People for the most part love to hear of the person who started out in the “underdog “role and rose to the top in spite of the grim obstacles which they experienced. Such is the story of Frank Morales.

He grew up in a time when Mexican people lived with rejection and where they were not allowed to participate. He refused to accept this treatment and was despised by the Anglo community for not backing down.  He in some instances forced his way into places where he had been told he wasn’t allowed.

This happened in Kansas City, Kansas.  He not only survived his environment, but has lived the life of success for many years. A book will soon be out – on how he did it.  He also, left Kansas City in 1957 and now lives in San Juan Capistrano, California.

He recalls that his family lived on 26th Street in the Argentine District “Across the street from the VFW Hall, which used to be a Methodist Mission in the old days.”  The family lost their home in the flood of ’51.  The following will be part of his book:

 I went to Clara Barton elementary, which was strictly for the Mexican kids. It was built in 1923 as a result of the segregation policies of those days. The school and city fathers did not want the Mexicans mingling with their kids.
We were allowed to join the Anglo students in the 7th grade at Argentine High which housed kids from 7th to 12th grades.

Due to the racist environment, most of the teachers and Anglo students didn't welcome us with open arms. I actually had seven fights the first day in that school.

They came at me from all directions that day and Mr. J.C. Harmon the principle almost threw me out of school until he found out that I was only defending myself. I was determined to stay in school anyway, but had to defend myself on many occasions.

My younger brother and sister couldn't put up with it and eventually quit, stating "if they don't want us here, then we're not going to stay.”

Most likely, the worst thing that happened to me the first day of school was my first class. The English teacher closed the classroom door after the bell rang......looked right at me and said out loud......  He then described the mean and degrading words directed to him – by his 7th grade teacher.

However, it got better for me due to my determination to win them over. Eventually, I think I won because when I graduated, I did it with Honors.....I received two banners......one for being the best all-around athlete (mainly in track and football as an All-City; All-League, and All-state football player (offence and defense) and track.....winning honors as a runner and Javelin thrower at the K.U. relays my senior year.

I also received the highest honors as the best all-around musician to graduate from Argentine....I played tenor saxophone, clarinet, and flute. Then, to boot, I was named to the National Honor Society role.

Not too bad for a kid who was almost thrown out of school the first day in the 7th grade.

All in all I still did well and still come back most years to my high school reunion and still play with, what is considered the oldest High School Reunion band in the country.

I left Kansas City in 1957 and moved to Los Angeles with Firestone Tire and Rubber Company as a member of the management team and spent thirty years with several Fortune 500 corporations.

My last twelve years in the corporate world I served as the Director of Computer Operations on the West Coast for another Fortune Corp. and, at the same time became quite an entrepreneur, owning several business' and also became an owner of many real estate rental properties and commercial properties that I lease to well known fast food restaurants.

I own properties both in the U.S. and Mexico ( I speak near-perfect Spanish, and also travel most of the world with my Lovely wife Barbara ( who was from the west-side on the Missouri side), doing business seminars on the  free enterprise system and creation of wealth, and enjoying life. We have five children.....The oldest son is Charles Andrew, who is a PhD. in Psychology and an author. Our oldest daughter is also an entrepreneur and represents the Dale Carnegie Institute, and is my business partner. Our others are also business go-getters and doing well.

Also I have three beautiful granddaughters. The oldest is the senior tennis coach at a California University; the other two are still in college and doing well. As you also know, I am a published author. My life story is now available.
The title of the book is "Fields to Freedom......The links of life". You can go to 'Fieldstofreedom.com" and get a preview. The book will be sold on Amazon.com. The Spanish version will be released later. As you will see that my pen name is 'Frank Morales' but my real name is Fernando.......my first boss at Firestone at 20th and Grand in K.C. Mo. didn't like Fernando, so gave me the name Frank... and it simply stuck........But my name is still "Fernando D. Morales".....or "NANO", as my family and most of my friends still call me.
 
In a symbolic gesture, he attempted to purchase the Park Theater on Strong Avenue – then no one in that theater would ever again tell people where to sit, based on their race:
 
In years past we had to sit in the Mexican section when we went to the Park Theater (the "Show"). Because I had a score to settle, in 1991 I went back to Argentine to buy the theater building for cash. As it turned out, the owners and I did not come to an agreement. Blackie was with me, as well as a camera crew. It was no longer a theater, it was a cabinet shop. I didn't need, nor want a theater building, it was just symbolic, to be able to afford to buy a theater building where I could sweep it early in the mornings, but for many years, were not allowed.....but later allowed to enter, but had to sit in the Mexican section.
 
We could not sit at the counter at the Katz drugstore on 25th and Metropolitan. It was 1950 when we were allowed.
 
I wanted to go into uniform for world war 11, but was too young, so, through the help of Mr. Joe Amayo some of us joined the Kansas State Guard. I was only 14, but lied about my age......told them I was sixteen. Served for a couple years, and when the war was over, the State Guard was dissolved and we all transferred into the Kansas National Guard.

I served for 13 years, first in an infantry division and when they formed the 42 Army band, I transferred into it and became the first Drum Major, Leading many Military parades in town and throughout Kansas. I also, played in the 42nd dance band. I played saxophone, clarinet and flute. Many of the parades where I lead the marching band as the Drum Major were in Argentine on certain military holidays.

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Many of us have known people who have traveled extensively in their lives.   In some instances this was of their own choosing and others it was circumstances beyond their control.
Jonathan Suarez of Kansas City KS is a well-traveled man which becomes his 90 years of age. Sometimes it takes a bit of work asking Hispanic adults to speak of their war-time experiences.

Jonathan was the same, but lately he realizes the importance that Mexican American’s tell their stories, realizing how Public Television overlooked their contributions in the recent documentary “The War.”  

His life began in Alamogordo, New Mexico and then he traveled many miles and had several of life’s experiences before he arrived in Wyandotte County 9 years ago.
 
Alamogordo was established in 1898, and is described as “the southeastern New Mexico gateway to the Land of Enchantment. It is a city which locals and New Mexicans refer to as “Alamo” and is an hour and a half drive north of El Paso, Texas. Suarez was born on September 11, 1918.  His family which included 4 sisters and 3 brothers then moved to Las Vegas, New Mexico when he was 10 years of age.
 
His family again relocated to the Los Angeles area in the year 1932, the year that Los Angeles was host of the 1932 World Olympics.   He remembers being caught up in the excitement of the Olympics and was present for several of the events. Later, world events would cause change in his life. He was drafted in October of 1942 as part of a show-down with the Nazi’s in Europe. Suarez was transported to Camp Gruber, Oklahoma for training.
 
His life was then constant traveling and training as a member of the 88th Infantry Division, 351st Regiment. His Division had training maneuvers in Northern Africa, after a few weeks they boarded ship and were sent to Naples, Italy for more training. His regiment spent the next year chasing the enemy in the hills of Italy. The living was difficult but they fought on as they were trained to do.

The difficult part was to see the suffering of the children and the women who were left behind to survive alone. He and his fellow soldiers would go without food in order to give their rations to the many needy children who were always looking for food and water to drink.
 
He also remembers his regiment traveling so fast that their supply lines could not keep up the pace. In some instances they had to stop and wait or have a detail go to find supplies.

They were often running out of gasoline, water and ammunitions. He vividly remembers the bombing of the Monte Cassino monastery in Italy, founded in 524 AD by St. Benedict. According to history, the bombing was carried out because it was feared the building was being used as a lookout post by the German Army. Because of the advantageous position high up in the mountains, the enemy could fire down on the American’s. Suarez describes the sounds of the many American bomber aircraft as “devastating that day.” There were many aircraft in the sky headed toward the stunningly beautiful monastery building. On February 15, 1944 the monastery located high on a peak was destroyed.
 
In May, 1944 Jonathan was wounded in Italy by enemy fire.   He was sent stateside and later spent Christmas in California at the U.S. Army hospital. The only photo he could share with Caminos of his WWII days was of him sitting in the hospital while he recuperated. He was released from the hospital in November 1945.
 
Jonathan Suarez remembers his buddies and family who also served in the WWII Europe and Pacific battles. His brother served as a gunner in the Army Air Corps and he had 3 uncles and a cousin serving all at the same time.

One irritating memory lingers, although he does not go into much detail. There was a Prisoner of War (POW) camp on the edge of Riverside, California at the end of 1945. He and the other soldiers did not like the attention which the German POW’s were given by the young females who traveled to the camp.
 
Jonathan and his spouse Linda later would live in Mexico. His son Luis had taken some medical technician training in Mexico and would later relocate in Kansas City. Jonathan loves his family. Kansas City suits him fine.

This is another of the many chapters in his life. He is currently recuperating from some health problems. He soon hopes to spend more time with his hobby of model trains (model ‘H’ and ‘N’). Possibly more community activities are in his future.
 
Note: Veterans Day Commemoration on November 11 at 6 p.m.. – The American GI Forum color guard, commemoration and speakers. The event will take place at the Guadalupe Center at 1015 Ave. Cesar Chavez in KC MO. Hot coffee and friendship will be available afterward.
 
Note: Operation “Stand Down” for homeless Veterans will take place Friday November 13th at Memorial Hall on 7th Street. Volunteers needed to hand out clothes and – for cleanup. Open from 7 a.m. – until 4 p.m.

Rudy Padilla can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net.

He is one of the many senior citizens now living a calm life in the area.  Manuel Becerra grew up in a time when times were difficult for most residents in Kansas City, Kansas.  His parents lived during the depression and living conditions improved some-what during the 1940s.

As many Mexican Americans of his era, life was bittersweet.  On one hand he had the loving home life and but then he also had to maneuver his way in a society that sometimes could be cruel and discriminate.

For several years he has been the Chaplain for American Legion Post 609.  He is interested in current events.  During his life he has seen many historical events unfold.  He is a responsible person.  Though he personally experienced discrimination because of his ethnic background, the principals on which the United States was founded such as Liberty and the pursuit of happiness were always his belief and his goal.

St. John the Devine church and School (now closed) were a central part of his growing up years.  He attended the grade school and church and would later marry his spouse, the former Eliza Muñoz there at the church on November 27, 1949.  Among the members of the wedding party were Luis Madrigal, Mary L. Alvarez, Simon Alvarez, Valentin Muñoz, Celso Arredondo and Anna Matoz  One member, Daniel Duarte, his cousin served 4 years in the U.S. Navy and would later move to Michigan.

Becerra was born in the Argentine District and lived around 25th and Metropolitan.  His father worked for the railroad for 40 years.  Both parents were originally from Mexico.  After he married he and his new spouse moved to the Armourdale area.  They were part of Mt. Carmel Catholic Church.  Becerra joined the U.S. Marine Reserves and served in 1947 and 1948.  He later decided to join the Marines full-time.  On July 16, 1950 he was sent to Camp Pendleton, California for training and then on August 16, 1950 he would board ship for Japan.  When he was at Camp Pendleton, he by chance met Joe Castro of the Argentine District, a long-time acquaintance.  Joe Castro later would be shipped to Korea.

He was among 1,500 personnel on the ship.  The trip took 31 days.  Most of that time he spent looking out over the sea as the sun would rise and later as the sun set.  Later he was part of a selection process which decided who would be sent to Korea and those who would spend their active duty in Japan.  He was selected to spend his time in Japan.

He was stationed near the town of Yokosuka.  During those years there were many visible signs of World War II.  In this area were many craters created by powerful bombs.  In the port he observed many sunken Japanese ships.  There were attempts to salvage and rebuild some of the ships.  In some instances, pumps blew air into the sunken ships in an effort for them to rise to the top.  Some of the ships could have the holes repaired and then placed into re-use.  Others were beyond repair.

Becerra was part of a mortars squad.  He enjoyed his time there, but he would have to return home.  He was given approval to return to Kansas City – the Kansas River was flooding Argentine and Armourdale.  He would attempt to help his family and parents but as many, he lost most of his personal belongings and would have to start over.

Becerra and his family moved to Mexico when he had started grade school and he later would attend a grade school in New Mexico which set him back farther in his educational background.  This resulted in his dropping out of high school later.

Being treated different because of his ethnic background, dropping out of school and the devastating flood of 1951 could have embittered him, but it did not.  He has lived the responsible life and has raised a family.  Currently his family consists of his daughter, Stella and son Hector.  The family also includes 6 grandchildren and 14 great-grandchildren.

Becerra remains interested in the ways of the world.  He comments “the Mayan calendar has been very accurate in predicting the activities on the Earth.  The Mayan calendar predicts the end of the Earth on December 22, 2011.  I want to live until that day to see if it is true.”

In relation to the above prediction, we have been told that there is a missing link in the interpretation of code and there is a missing link.  Hope to get back with you then.

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansas City Kansan and can be reached at opkansas@swbell.net

It is widely known that Halloween is now accepted as a major part of the season in America. This year, as in the several last years, Mattie Rhodes Arts Center in KC MO will dedicate an exhibit to “Dia de los Muertos.” Halloween, Day of the Dead and All Saints Day… a challenge to the Catholic faith.

Dale Hoyt Palfrey, from http://www.mexconnect.com/en/articles/1972-the-... "Her face is unforgettable and she goes by many names: La Catrina, la Flaca, la Huesuda, la Pelona--Fancy Lady, Skinny, Bony, Baldy. A fixture in Mexican society, she's not some trendy fashion model, but La Muerte--Death."

Bobbi Salinas-Norman, "Indo-Hispanic Folk Art Traditions II": "What is the difference between Halloween and the Day of the Dead? Halloween is based on a medieval European concept of death, and is populated by demons, witches (usually women) and other images of terror -- all of them negative. The Day of the Dead, in contrast, is distinctly different. It is a uniquely Indo-Hispanic custom that demonstrates strong sense of love and respect for one’s ancestors; celebrates the continuance of life, family relationships, community solidarity and even finds humor after death -- all positive concepts!"

Octavio Paz - from "El laberinto de Soledad / Labyrinth of Solitude" "undaunted by death, the Mexican has no qualms about getting up close and personal with death, noting that he "...chases after it, mocks it, courts it, hugs it, sleeps with it; it is his favorite plaything and his most lasting love."

May Herz (from http://www.inside-mexico.com/featuredead.htm) "The essence of this beautiful ritual is to lovingly and happily remember the dead relatives, their life, and in this way, give meaning and continuity to human existence." “I added the last quote because although George Bernard Shaw may not have been aware of the Day of the Dead, his quote seemed somehow appropriate!! G.B. Shaw – “If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance.”
SPOOKY SPECTER ON A SILVER SADDLE
A True Halloween Chiller – published by La Prensa San Diego.
 
It’s a good thing you don’t know what is going on outside. While you have bogus Disney ghosts on TV, there is a real but tormented soul riding through the restless night outside. Even worse, almost everything in the story has been proved beyond a shadow of doubt.
 
In 1846, the land around Rancho Santa Fe (then San Dieguito) and even Viejas was dotted with range cattle and horses. Those were ranchos of the Osuna family, descendants of Andalusians from the Moorish town of Osuna, near Seville, descendants of an Osuna who had come north from Loreto with Junipero Serra. They were the kind of people who loved freedom, horses and their land.
 
The head of the family, Don Juan, helped bring democracy to Mexican San Diego and was elected first alcalde in 1835. That Arabic title signified “mayor” and he fulfilled his unpaid office with grave dignity, patrolling the gritty streets with a black robe, powdered wig, and stiffly gripping a staff of office with black silk tassels. He even had a copy of the “Laws of the Indies.” He was San Diego’s first civil authority.

A daughter, Felipa, was mistress of Rancho Agua Hedionda (stinking water), which included the land of present Carlsbad. She was a lady of substance and style, remembered for having bought the area’s first horse-drawn carriage and paying for it with fifty cows.
 
One of the sons, Ramón, was popular and a rascal with the girls. A lady remembered him, in her old age, as “a beautiful man, with red cheeks.” He got into trouble early, by an accusation against him at Las Encinitas Rancho. It led to some bitter feuding between the Osunas and the Ybarras of what is now Encinitas. His brother, Leandro, was completely different. “Indian” Leandro, was brooding, haughty, and tempestuous.

He was dark with a narrow forehead, and preferred the company of Indians, so that when he spoke, it sounded more like Kumeyaay than Spanish. Even his bay stallion was a wild spirit with the bloodchilling rebel name of “Apache.” Leandro best expressed the storms within him through music. As an impassioned violinist, he was in demand to lead the orchestra of Old Town at the Pacific Pioneer Yacht Club balls.
 
When news came that the U.S. Army was invading California, Leandro honed his patriot skills with a shootout in Mission Valley with the turncoat Don Miguel, the Spanish ranchero of El Cajon. Then he and his brother assembled the California Lancers to give the arriving mob of “illegal aliens” a proper ranchero welcome to San Diego. On December 6, 1846, the Lancers charged the U.S. Army at the Battle of San Pascual, and carried the day.

Leandro shot one officer in the forehead and lanced another. The Army of the West had accurate Kentucky rifles, but not accurate enough to hit the narrow forehead of Leandro Inocencia Osuna.
 
The California Lancers won the battle, but not the war. When it came time to surrender to the Americans, Leandro rode up haughtily, with lance extended in defiance. Hanging from the lance was his bloodied flag. In time, the Army was followed by lawyers and lenders. Leandro became embroiled in trying to save not California, but just his family’s vast land holdings. With the Americans came inevitably taxes and mortgages.
 
It seemed to Leandro that the happy ranchero days were over, the days of fiestas, fandangos, of donning a vicuna sombrero and tossing a silver-studded saddle on Apache’s back and riding like the wind through unfenced grazing land. He had enemies among the Indians, too. Near Pauma Rancho, some had killed his brother and other Lancers with campfire heated spears, and done a death dance around the bodies, a whole night long.

One had rolled cigarettes for Leandro, adding a potent poison made from the fruit of a cactus mixed with a powder from bones of the dead. He was later secretly warned that it would cause a slow and horrible death. For Leandro, this was the ultimate betrayal, a sign that he had lived beyond his time. He became despondent, irrational and his lungs began to fail from those cigarettes.
 
Leandro rode Apache a final time, down the San Dieguito River of old rancho that the upstart American government refused to confirm as belonging to the family. He rode down El Camino Real of his forefathers and through the Cañada de Osuna, now called Rose Canyon after the moneylender Louis Rose, and across the river of saintly name to the pueblo which had been liberated from military presidio rule by his father. But already, he heard English being spoken in houses not of adobe, but of boards.
 
He dismounted at his father’s adobe “Casa de Osuna,” near present Old Town Plaza. He would not have felt any better if he could foresee the future, because in just another year his venerable father would be laid to rest, cloaked in a Franciscan robe, in the nearby Campo Santo. The old adobe would be renamed the “Jolly Boy Saloon.”

Leandro had a tiredness which sleep does not cure, and an awareness that an apocalypse was upon his people and his ranchero way of life. Lying in his bed on April 3, 1859, he asked to see his nephew’s pistol. Then, saying simply “adios,” he pressed it to his heart and pulled the trigger. Just then, the sun went down. He was only 37 years old, and the newspaper dryly noted that he left behind an “interesting” family. Perhaps they were all like him.

My friend Rev. Cathy Jenkins and I used to discuss what our lives were like when we used to both live in the country.  Of course that was a long time ago. She then asked me to write down some of my experiences which she could possibly show her children to use in their future life.  Two events came to mind:

We lived in a house with a few acres on the edge of Bonner Springs, close to the city cemetery, and that was my territory.  At the age of five, I used to visit my grandmother in a small house which she lived on the property, usually before I went to Kindergarten in the afternoon.  I was usually not afraid of anything, except being close to the cemetery at night fall.

Then my father purchased a flock of white geese.  Anyone who has lived around geese knows that they can be vicious and mean if they are in the mood to scare a person. I always carried with me a broom handle which I had salvaged from the trash to hold them off when I had to cross paths with them.

Except that one day, when I forgot to have in my possession the wood handle as I took off walking to mi abuela’s house.  I did not get far when they were after me.  To a five-year-old they looked ferocious and loud as they took off after me with their wings spread open and trying to peck at me.  I had no defense, so I immediately ran for a near-by tree and climbed up out of harms way.

I was so humiliated and embarrassed to be standing in that tree.  I really was hoping no one in the family was watching… I would not be able to bear the laughter.  The flock of geese soon lost interest in me, so they moved away until I could safely climb down and try to steady myself.  That would be my first lesson to the Jenkins teenagers – always be prepared.

The second lesson which I learned came in the form of a type-A personality quarter horse named Dynamite.  In a previous column I described how I received the surprise (almost) of my life, when mi padre gave me a beautiful horse.  I was approximately 10 years then.

We had moved to a farm west of Bonner Springs when I was 8 years of age. “What is his name?”  The man who sold him to us replied “Dynamite.”  I expected a friendlier sounding name but, it was an okay name.

I rode him only briefly that evening.  He appeared to be too excited, so I was told to take off his saddle and bridle and let him out to pasture for the evening.  I recall spending a long anxious evening making periodic visits to make sure that this was really not a dream.

I had the vision of jumping up on the saddle and taking off with my new quarter horse Dynamite in the morning. We would look as one – just as in the movies. We would ride off in a cloud of dust along side a large cornfield – a place which I had thought of beforehand. But, was I ever wrong:

In the morning, first I had to catch the horse.  At 8 a.m. he did not appear to be interested at all.  As I approached him, he seemed so much bigger than he had yesterday.  None of my older brothers were at home to give me advice – nor mi padre.

When I would approach Dynamite with the bridle, he would move away.  I followed him around the pasture for awhile, almost pleading with him to let me put on his bridle.  Finally I remembered that I had some sugar lumps which I found in the kitchen before. I then was able to put on his bridle correctly and led him toward the house. 

He was just too tall for me, so I had to move him next to the front porch of the house.  I made a trip to the shed where I had stored his blanket and saddle.  I was breathing hard now as I contemplated my next move.  I did not want to but I would need help, as Dynamite would move away from the porch when I attempted to place the blanket over his back. I knew my sister would be too afraid to help me, so of course I thought of mi madre.

Then, I was about 4 foot 10 inches and mi madre was not much taller.  “Hijito, por favor, esperate,” mi madre repeated several times. She knew I was stubborn – and this could turn ugly.  Surprisingly, to my joy, Dynamite now began to cooperate and I felt so much better.  At the time, I was certain that no self-respecting cowboy would be treated in this fashion by his horse.

The blanket and saddle was now in place.  All that was left was to tighten the wide belt called the cinch and the saddle would be firmly secured on his back. I did not know then, but many horses will puff out their stomachs at the first feel of the cinch. The solution to this detail is to tap the horse on the side and wait until they let their stomach in – then you tighten the cinch until it feels snug and secure. I did not know that then. This was my second lesson to the teens in the Jenkins family – pay attention to detail.

Dynamite was close to the porch, so I was able to mount fairly easy.  I then told mi madre that I was going for a little ride.  I think that I forgot to thank her for her assistance. As Dynamite and I left, I could see mi madre making the sign of the cross as she walked back into the house. That was not good.

After a minute, I was feeling more confident, so I tapped Dynamite on the shoulder with the reins, just as it was done in the movies.  He immediately broke into a trot.  I didn’t think this was right; the way I was bouncing around in the saddle. After a minute we were at the top of a hill.  I felt that something was not right, so I turned him left to go back to the house. At that instant, Dynamite took off at full speed – down the hill…

To my horror, the saddle was now slipping from side to side. The saddle had not been secured on his back properly. The next thing I knew, I was hanging onto the out-of-control horse. The saddle had now slipped to his side, and I was also now – sideways.

I have to admit, I thought these were my last few seconds on earth. I was hanging onto the now fast-galloping beast with my right heel dug onto his back. I could see his left front hoof flashing only inches from my nose – my eyeballs were now flopping side-ways in my head.  Also, I still have the strong smell of a sweating horse vividly embedded in my memory.

I knew that I could hang on no more, so I let loose of the saddle which was now hanging sideways on the flying quarter horse.  I recall the violent feeling as I crashed into the dirt and I am certain that I looked as in the cartoons – rolling over and over with the dust flying everywhere. 

When I stopped rolling and came to my senses, I had grass in my mouth and nose – it seemed awful hot and humid. I think I wanted to break out in tears then, but soon my fear turned to anger. 

I was a mess. My jeans and t-shirt were smeared with grass and dirt. And the person who was responsible for all of this was Apache. I looked around for him – and there he was – calmly eating fresh corn stalks 50 feet away. My next thoughts were the fear that someone had witnessed it all.  No cowboy had ever endured such humiliation.

I was then able to get Dynamite back to the pasture, where I removed the cursed saddle and blanket.   Fortunately, no one saw me – so I did not have to answer any embarrassing questions. I then had to go to the pond which was secluded and clean up. I removed my jeans and t-shirt; cleaned them as much as I could in the pond water. It was a sunny and warm day, so I was able to spend the day under a tree in my shorts, waiting for my clothes to dry.

Most of my thoughts on that day centered on - if only I had known the correct procedure to applying a saddle. My second lesson to the Jenkins teens and all teens is: please pay attention to detail.

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansan and can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net

Excitement filled the air as the Village West’s Rotary Club 3^rd Annual Heroes Parade began to assemble on France Family Drive.

The American GI Forum was number 38 in line so I took my time taking in all of the beautiful antique cars parked along the way. Jeeps and Army trucks were also made their presence known.  I saw and waved to Pete Gomez and the Bonner Springs VFW.  Pete’s U.S. Army 1 and ½ ton truck looks impressive, along with its huge mounted speakers atop.

As we waited, a golf cart stopped next to our group and I was pleased to meet Julius Novak in person.  I had spoken with him by telephone awhile back but never had seen him in person – and there he was in a golf cart.  He was being escorted to his place in line toward the front. 

That is another positive aspect to the parade – you have the opportunity to meet people you might not normally get to know.  It was good to see young people, beside those in our group, involved in the parade. All of the greetings, positive expressions and support shown would seem to be an excellent example to our youth, in community building.

The parade was a bit late in getting started, but that allowed for more time to checkout the vintage cars going by.  Someone was driving a 1955 baby blue and white Chevrolet Bellaire convertible. The car looked so new that for a few seconds – it felt like 1955 again.

 We moved forward a few feet in Martha Upchurch’s red convertible.  Martha was driving with her daughter Nan Sewell in front. Our Miss AGIF, Diana Reyes and I were in back where the wind let its presence known.  Joe Amayo Jr. was driving his van behind us, towing a large float. It was a fun night for our chapter.

 The Washington High School Jr. ROTC members were waiting in the Nebraska Furniture Mart parking lot, ready at a moments notice to be at “attention.”  To make time pass a bit faster, they would break into some impromptu cadence calls that were funny.  Later, they were behind us and I could not see them, but I am certain that they did their school proud.

My only regret was that I forgot to walk up to the front of the line to personally meet the Grand Marshall’s of the parade, WWII Veteran, Bill Thompson and Korea/Viet Nam Veteran, Beau Kansteiner.  But I made it a point to get their phone numbers and will report on them at a later date.

Along the parade route, it was a bit breezy, but it was fun.  Waving and hollering along the way, it was very pleasing to see the waving of hands and flags in response.  Especially interesting was the expressions on the faces of the 3 year olds.  They were spell bound by the band in front of us.  They appeared to not know what to make of it all – and they stayed close to their parents.

Another outstanding job by announcer Mike Thompson at the grandstand.  Mike is the WDAF TV Meteorologist.  He is also a U.S. Veteran, having served in the U.S. Navy as an Officer.  He is a very good choice as the MC.

After the end of the parade, many of us gathered at the Cheeseburger in Paradise Restaurant.  It was a fun-atmosphere there as the regular customers were joined by the parade workers and participants.  The Cheeseburger in Paradise is still doing very well, probably thanks to its extensive menu and delicious food items.

We were very fortunate to be seated close to the area where Pat Sedlock’s family was having dinner.  Pat is such a super nice person and still as optimistic as ever.  Since I met Pat a few years ago, I decided that I also want to be as optimistic a person as she is.  In the last year, she has had some health issues, but she is on the way to recovery.  We are very lucky to have had Pat Sedlock as part of the Wyandotte community all of these years.  Her daughters Cherise Sedlock and Patti Green who were at the table also are very pleasant. Also at their table were Phil Sedlock, long-time Wyandotte County resident, husband of Pat, Son-in Law Tim Green and nephew Timmy Green.

In recent years in Wyandotte County we have added Nebraska Furniture, the Kansas National Raceway, The Kansas City T-Bones and - soon, the Kansas City Wizards Soccer Stadium.  We thank those who had the vision for Wyandotte County.  Who knows what other news we will have when we convene for the parade in the year 2010.

Joe Amayo Jr., Lisa Amayo and her son Joseph Ortiz who is a senior at Bishop Ward High School, Christina Enriquez, Martha Upchurch, Gabriella Moreno, Lupe Moreno, Angela Moreno, Jesse Ramirez – we all had a good time at the post-parade celebration.  The evening seemed to pass too fast. The Heroes Parade gives opportunity to thank those who tried to make a difference and succeeded.  We also thank those who organized the parade and carried out the many details.  We can only hope that our young people will take their turn in the future.

When speaking with Ben Alvarado who spent much of his youth in Wyandotte County Alvarado is very proud to have been a part of the U.S. Army during World War II. 

A good part of his time in Europe at that time was with the US Third Army, 80^th Division.  He vividly remembers many events which were shown on television or in the movies.

Ben Alvarado wishes for more people to know about his little brother Mike.  I was anxious to also learn more about his brother who told the U.S. Army that he was 18 years of age, when in fact he was only 17.  Ben describes his brother as fun-loving and not at all the violent type. 

Unfortunately, Mike experienced and witnessed fear and stress at an unsupportable level.  Two weeks ago, Ben sent me the following:  “My little brother in combat?  I just could not believe it… when I received his letter letting me know of where he was, I immediately wrote back to tell him to be careful and to not take any chances!  What else should I have advised him?  When, I can’t even help myself.  When the war was over, we met in Kansas City, Kansas. 

We talked a little.  He seemed very confused.  He asked me if I came through Churburg (Cherbourg)… Were you in St. Lo?  Were you in Belgiam (Belgium)?  Were you in Bastone?  He fell silent… I asked him, what happened in Bastone?  By the name of the cities, I could tell where he had been.  Cherbourg, I likened it to be at the end of the movie…”Saving Private Ryan.”

 Melmedy is a small village near Bastone, where about 150 American Soldiers surrendered to the Germans.  This was Mike’s outfit.  The Germans massacred them while the Americans had their hands up in surrender. 

Six or seven escaped.  I asked, ‘what did you do?’  He said ‘I just sat down.’   I believe that when Mike sat down, he was spared.  I have a letter from the VA hospital where Mike was treated for trauma.  It states that all of Mikes buddies were killed!”

I asked Ben Alvarado to describe the first reuniting of him and his little brother in Kansas City, Kansas.  Their mother had passed away and his uncle had moved from Kansas City to Mexico, so Ben and Mike were without a permanent home when they both arrived in the Argentine district after the War had ended. 

Ben told Mike by letter that they would meet in Kansas City on 25^th Street – close to the train tracks.  This was a block away from where the Clara Barton School was located.

When Ben arrived in the Argentine District, it took a while to find Mike.  He found Mike lying down in a field close to the Kansas River, where their uncle grew vegetables in the past. 

Ben felt that Mike was “trying to figure out his way – unaware of where he was – looking for some solace in his life.”  Even today, some comments by Mike still haunt him.  Ben recounts that “he must have felt very badly about himself.  At one point, Mike told Ben, that “I’m a coward.” 

How do you convince a younger brother that is not true?  At the age of 17 he experienced the horror of the War at D-Day landings and the battle of the Bulge, where he was most likely the only person to survive the massacre of his buddies by the revenge-seeking Nazis.

Ben purchased a house on 26^th Street in Argentine.  Mike lived with him for awhile, when Ben found it was time to take Mike to the VA Hospital in Topeka for treatment.  This was sad for Ben. 

Mike continued to be very quiet in the hospital.  10 years later, the VA told Ben they could do no more and sent him home to live with Ben and his young family. 

Mike lived until the age of 65.  Ben would take him to work with him to his print shop.  Mike liked to saw firewood with a bow saw.  Most of the time he was quiet, but sometimes his nephews or nieces would make him smile.  He would unexpectedly break into singing the songs of the 40s.

Ben saved a letter sent to him from the Veterans Administration, which states in part “Michael Alvarado was the sole survivor of his company in the Battle of the Bulge.  He had to make his way among the dead of his company in order to join up with other forces. 

This severe shock resulted in emotional decompensation.” This analysis was conducted by Dr. Rita D. Perll, Psychiatrist, Western Missouri Mental Health Center.

Ben comments that when Mike was in Bastone during the Battle of the Bulge (Dec. 1944), that was the coldest winter on record and many suffered frost-bite in addition to the 200 days of combat he carried out. 

Now many years later, Ben can only console his younger brother in his prayers and in his dreams.  “The weight which Mike carried in his mind – most likely caused him to retreat into a different and safer world.” 

Rudy Padilla is a columnist for the Kansan and can be contacted at opkansas@swbell.net.

In April 1945, Alvarado’s Infantry Division was ordered to take control of Weimer, a small German town.  Although the war was winding down, the American soldiers were physically tired but increasingly optimistic as victory in Europe was more in sight. 

As in many instances during that time, the retreating German soldiers would hide among the civilian populations such as Weimer.  About this time, Ben was released from the hospital and was then assigned to the 129th Military Police Air force Unit. 

The commanding officer, Col. N.O. Costello knowing that the war would soon be over, decided against carrying out major destruction to Weimar, instead he gave the town a choice of saving itself. 

The town was in close proximity to the Buchenwald concentration camp, which meant that the German SS troops would also be in the area.  The Germans held prisoners at more than 10,000 sites during the twelve-year Nazi era. 

The camps in Germany and Austria largely supported industry, ranging from massive camps like Buchenwald to small temporary work shelters with only a few inmates.  In discussions with the mayor of Weimar, the SS troops did not want to leave the area, but did so at the request of the civilian residents. 

Col. Costello had tanks and artillery readied in a very visible position, then sent a messenger with an ultimatum to the mayor which basically said that if the city would fly a white flag in the city square, that would indicate surrender, and the city would be spared.  Later in the day, the mayor had the white flag raised, the German soldiers left the area and the 80th moved in without casualties to either side.  During the takeover in Weimar, Ben was close-by guarding prisoners.  He says with a smile, “my most interesting prisoner was Field Marshall Gerd Von Rundstedt, Commander of the German Forces of that area.” (CLICK READ MORE)