This story proves that there is such a thing as the "American Dream". It is about a mother, Dolores L. Garcia, a courageous lady who believed in herself and her children. It is also the story of a five year old boy who under her guidance began selling limes in a street corner in Laredo, Texas and became very successful in the meat industry and in real estate. Their beginning was no different than many others in the predominantly Hispanic community. However, most families were so busy making ends meet that they couldn't get out of the vicious cycle they found themselves in. Luckily, Dolores had a three part formula to succeed: work hard, plan for the future, never let go of your dreams. This plan gave a five year old boy great success. Dolores became a widow when she was thirty years old. She had ten children, including a set of twins in ages from newborn to a 13 year old. Because her husband was a good provider to her and her children, Dolores led a very sheltered life. Because her husband did most of the shopping, she did not even know how to buy groceries. She lived in government-assisted housing and worked two jobs from 6:00 to midnight to make ends meet. Within five years, she bought a house and a car. The spirit and strengths she possessed she passed to her seven daughters and her two year old son, the author of this book. All of her children became successful and they utilized their God-given gifts. They applied all the guidance and life lessons that their mother passed on to them. This is a story that will affect every reader and help them cope in facing adversity.

No Greater Sacrifice

A Son's Model to SuccessBy Armando L. Garcia

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Armando L. Garcia
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-9395-2

Contents

Acknowledgements......................................................ixPrologue..............................................................xiChapter 1. Starting On The Path Of Success............................1Chapter 2. Learning Business Skills From The Best.....................25Chapter 3. Shaping My Future..........................................35Chapter 4. Learning Discipline Is Not Easy............................45Chapter 5. Experiencing The Art Of Negotiation........................53Chapter 6. Becoming An Entrepreneur...................................63Chapter 7. Enjoying The Benefit Of Hard Work..........................75Chapter 8. My Hero's Gone But Not Forgotten...........................87

Chapter One

Starting On The Path Of Success

My mother, Dolores Longoria Marroquin Garcia, was born in Monterrey, Mexico, on August 10, 1913. Her mother worked as a housekeeper for a wealthy family there. When my mother was about seven years old, she and her family moved to Nuevo Laredo, Tamaulipas, across the Rio Grande from Laredo, Texas. It was at this early age that my mother learned to face adversity. Arriving in a strange town with no extended family or close friends and having to look for employment, my grandmother had to place my mother in an orphanage. It was here that my mother spent her formative years. Mother would later attend a private high school in Monterrey. It was there where she learned to speak English.

According to my sister Lolly, who is two years older than me, "Mother would also learn shorthand and typing. She loved music and learned about music. She was exposed to a lot of good things, nice things."

It was in the orphanage that my mother met Pablo Garcia, my father. The two became U.S. citizens and married in 1928. She was fifteen, and he was seventeen. He was a tall, slender man who had a natural talent for learning skills and trades. He, too, would come to know about some of the finer things in life: a well-set table, a formal sit-down meal, and ensuring that his wife and children were well-dressed and cared for. That is why he was constantly trying to make things better for us by taking on a number of part-time occupations. As talented as he was, all that my father learned came from observation.

My father was a self-taught master chef. However, he had also learned to be a painter, an interior decorator, upholsterer, and all-around handy man. Mother and my sisters say that there was nothing he couldn't fix or at least try his hand at fixing. He had a sense of wonder of how things worked. His creative restlessness defined a man obsessed with excellence. It might be that these skills were rooted in his early years growing up in an orphanage without a home of his own.

My father was a dreamer with great hopes for the future. He had decided very early in life that, to make it in life, he had to do it himself. He knew the importance of observing, learning, and soaking in all that he could. I believe that he learned new skills for two main reasons; as a way to succeed and as a means of survival. It was a practice that would come to serve him well as he raised his family.

My parents moved to Laredo and set up their family home. My father found work as a chef for the Hamilton Hotel in Laredo. A man of many talents, he also did upholstery and drapery work. He had a high standard of quality in his work, paying very close attention to the tiniest details. Setting up their new home in the style of their ancestors, my father was very proud to be the head of his family. He took his responsibilities very seriously. My mother fully supported his breadwinner role. She knew that her job was staying home and raising their growing family. It was a duty that she accepted without question. She felt very secure under his protection.

The house that I remember as our first home was in the Colonia Guadalupe in Laredo. The colonia was the most recognizable public housing area in Laredo and fairly close to "el centro," the center of town, more commonly described as the downtown area. The main reason why that was important was the fact that there were no malls in those days, So el centro was it for shopping. It was also where most business, financial, and social activities were conducted.

The actual center of town was a whole city block that housed the city public offices and the police station. The city library was located on the second floor. However, the core of the downtown shopping district was a block away, at the corner of Convent Avenue and Hidalgo Street. Convent Avenue was the street that led directly to the International Bridge. The busiest location for both auto and pedestrian traffic was home to three of the biggest department stores of that time. Kress's Department Store was located on one corner, and moving clockwise, Woolworth's and McClelland's occupied two other corners. A local store occupied the fourth corner. JCPenney's was next to Kress's, and Western Auto was further down the street. Two other locally-owned department stores were close by; these were Richter's and Hachar's. They catered mostly to the higher-income people and wealthy shoppers from Mexico. The two most popular shoe stores, Kinney's and Thom McCann's, were down the sidewalk from McClelland's. The only two banks, the Laredo National Bank and the Union Bank, were within walking distance. The two biggest and most luxurious hotels were the Plaza and the Hamilton Hotel. As I mentioned earlier, my father worked at the Hamilton.

The major movie theaters were also located across from the city square. These were the Plaza and the Tivoli. The Royal, which was Spanish language, and the Rialto Theaters were up the street on Hidalgo. In addition, the downtown area had a number of busy drugstores with soda fountains that were very popular with kids, especially after school. The most popular ones were Guajardo's, City, and Central Drug Stores. So, like many other small cities, the compact downtown area was the place to socialize. That is why the colonia, built in 1938, was so conveniently located. It was within walking distance of the center of town.

The colonia consisted of a number of all-brick, one- and two-story buildings that housed two to four families per structure. They were arranged in clusters of homes that were separated by clean sidewalks and well-lit streets. At a time when most of the streets of Laredo were unpaved, all the streets in the colonia were nicely and cleanly paved, with concrete curbs. To compare the difference, all you had to do was walk across the street, and it was like walking into a drab, different world. In short, the colonia was like an oasis in the middle of a desert. We all felt blessed to live there.

Today, public housing tends to have a bad reputation due to its association with gangs, unemployment, and other bad elements. That was not the case when I was growing up. Colonia Guadalupe was a very respectful and dignified state-of-the art housing project. It was designed to give upward-moving families a hand with affordable housing. Colonia Guadalupe was not really designated as long-term housing. It had the look and feeling of permanent housing. However, as soon as their financial conditions improved, tenants were expected to move on and buy their own homes. This approach opened up the units to other families on the waiting list, and the process repeated itself.

Because it was such a neat place, the list of applicants waiting to move in was always very long. Damage to the units by unruly kids or by the negligence by adults was not tolerated. Tenants were expected to keep their children in line, and they were responsible for protecting and maintaining their homes as if they were their own. Because they did not want to be evicted for neglecting their duties, they took their responsibilities very seriously. The residents were hardworking people who understood that living there was a privilege.

The clean, wide-open spaces offered a safe and secure environment for children to play under the close supervision of their parents or older siblings. You could almost always tell if kids lived in a particular unit by the amount-or lack-of St. Augustine grass growing in front of each of the houses.

The respect shown by tenants toward each other gave the neighborhood a deep sense of community and belonging that transformed neighbors into extended families. Every parent and adult in the neighborhood looked after everyone else's children. It was as if we had a choir of angels looking over us at all times. Kids had to be careful not to misbehave, because sooner or later, word would reach their parents. I found that out myself many times.

In the evenings, Colonia Guadalupe was a very quiet, serene place. However, the neighborhood slowly came to life even before sunrise as people got a head start to their jobs. The high level of energy and activity continued through the day, and right down to the evening hours. That is when working fathers and mothers returned home, tired and hungry for a welcome home meal with their family.

That brings me to one of the things I remember most of the colonia; the wonderful aroma of meal preparations. The sweet smells coming from the various open kitchen windows filled the air throughout the day. In the morning, we didn't need alarm clocks. The strong smell of coffee brewing wafting through the neighborhood did the trick. The smell made you hungry, even if you didn't drink it yourself. You wanted to get up. The coffee soon blended with the smell of various foods. The more popular dishes consisted of flour tortillas cooking on a comal (iron griddle), sizzling Mexican chorizo (sausage), bacon and eggs, and potato and egg tacos. They combined together in the pleasant morning air. It was a symphony, not of sound, but of complementing flavors; it was meant for the nose, not the ears. Breakfast time in my neighborhood formed a unique and unforgettable aroma that I still remember to this day.

At noon, the most prevalent fragrance was caldo (Mexican soup). No matter what the main course was for lunch, most moms prepared a big pot of caldo as well. Because it was laden with vegetables and meat (beef, pork, or chicken), sometimes it served as the main course for many families. Of course, Friday's version always called for fish as the main ingredient. Caldo usually came with a stack of freshly baked corn tortillas and a molcajete (mortar bowl) laden with hot chile sauce (a mixture of serrano peppers, onion, tomato, salt, and black pepper).

Suppertime brought its own unique bouquet of delicate scents. The smell of flour tortillas permeated the air for the second time in the day, combined with boiling pots of pinto beans, an array of different guizados (meat stews), tacos, and similar dishes. Just as we didn't need alarm clocks in the morning, we didn't need dinner bells, either. The aromas at suppertime were enough to send kids home in a flash, regardless of how far away they were playing in the neighborhood.

As a matter of rule, after sending their husbands to work and the children to school, stay-at-home moms took a short break in the morning. They went outside to water their plants around the house, sweep their sidewalks, etc. This special time served as their morning social moment before starting the chores for the day. A few of the women stood in their front yards and talked to their friends across the sidewalk. Some of the women were comadres (godmothers to their neighbors' children). Likewise, the men were known as compadres (godfathers). In those days, it was considered a great honor to be a child's godparents because of the responsibilities that came with it. These religious bonds served to unite people as if they were brothers and sisters. The women especially built a form of sisterhood. When things were tough, comadres leaned on each other for moral support. During their special morning hour, the women talked about the weather or other typical routine topics of the day.

The days of a TV in every home was still many years in the future, so after supper, the neighbors took another break with a somewhat longer visit. They visited with each in their gathered together cluster and talked about the day's events. They discussed their plans for the next day while the children played all around. Mostly, it was a time to enjoy the early evening or coolest part of the day before everyone retired for the night.

Our home was a compact, two-story unit. The downstairs floor included a kitchen, living room, pantry, and closet. The upstairs had three bedrooms and a single bathroom for the entire family. Although today that seems like a huge limitation, I should say that many houses in Laredo did not as yet have indoor plumbing, so my parents were very thankful for their good luck in moving into the colonia when their turn came up.

Although, I don't remember Father well, my sisters tell me that he loved to carry me as a baby. He was a devoted parent during his days off from his job at the restaurant. When he didn't have part-time work to do, my sisters say that I was always with him. They add that when I was a toddler, he would often lift me up to wind a mantel clock.

Money was tight, but as I said, my father was able to dress his family well, and we had plenty to eat. His elaborate, formal, Sunday dinner spreads were first-class. Evidently, Father would not tolerate talking or laughter during the formal dinners.

"I remember one time I was hitting someone under the table with my foot, and I couldn't stop laughing," Lolly says. "I was sent upstairs without eating."

Lolly adds, "The occasion was formal in every sense of the word. He was a strict disciplinarian but a caring father. On Saturdays, we would line up for inspection, military-style. We had to fix our drawers, make sure everything was folded, and make sure our shoes were polished. We had our play clothes, our school clothes, and our Sunday school clothes."

My sister Lolly still marvels at Father's resourcefulness. "He would make suits for Pablo Fernando and dresses for Yolanda out of his old suits. And because of his catering background, every Sunday, he would have these formal luncheons. He would carve a turkey. It would be a big meal, a feast."

Both our parents had areas of responsibility. My father worked outside the home and Mother was a stay-at-home mom. In running the house, Mother was an excellent manager and leader. Because we were a large family, she delegated some of the responsibilities to us. Each of the children had specific roles within the house. As we grew older and found jobs outside the home, we continued to do the chores. The reason was simple. There was no one else to do them.

Mother's example of responsibility was very effective. Her lessons were constant, and we were all quick learners. For example, as soon as she was old enough, my oldest sister, Yolanda, was able to find work downtown. Amanda did the cooking and laundry. Norma and Lolly helped Amanda with the house chores. Taking their lead, I would eventually go to work at a very early age.

"We were taught to dream big," Lolly says. "If you dream small, you will always be small," she remembers Mother saying.

We were one big, happy family. We were very content and had the two best possible parents in the world. Sadly, due to events in April of 1945, life for all of us changed forever. I don't remember the details because I was only three years old, but it was then that my father developed serious medical problems. It may have started as a slight illness that he probably tried to ignore. Most likely, he thought that it would go away. However, his condition worsened to a very serious condition. His doctor in Laredo recommended immediate bladder surgery. He recommended a surgeon in San Antonio. My father complied with his doctor's advice and travelled to San Antonio to get the procedure done.

After the surgery, the doctors ordered him on bed rest for a week. However, such a long stay was a luxury our father couldn't afford. He took the long train ride home, with plans to continue his productive routine as soon as possible: there were things to be done, a family to take care of. When he arrived in Laredo, he was bleeding internally, since the wound had not yet healed. As a result, he was physically weak. Things didn't look good for the head of the young Pablo Garcia family.

Norma, who was nine years old at the time, recalls, "I remembered he brought presents for all of us children," she says. "And he brought a watch for Mother."

He had made it back home from San Antonio. That is the high level of love he had for his wife and children. He was very happy and grateful to be surrounded by his loved ones. He would not have wanted it any other way.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from No Greater Sacrificeby Armando L. Garcia Copyright © 2010 by Armando L. Garcia. Excerpted by permission.
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