I run a service industry facility in the Greater Los Angeles area. My staff are gardeners, locker room and laundry attendants, janitors, pool and maintenance technicians. They are the backbone of our business and without them we would not be able to open the doors at 5:00 am or close them at 10:00 pm.
Of the full-timers at least 75% are Hispanic immigrants. English is their second language. As far as I know none have been through high school. They show up on time every day, and have to be reminded to take their vacation days. Some days they show up too sick to work and we have to send them home. They usually don't want to go. They are not used to getting sick days. They work. They work hard. Every day. That is what they do. That is what they know. Work. They take pride in having a job. Any job. It offends me deeply when I hear people from this country complain that Hispanic immigrants come here for free education, healthcare and to steal good jobs from real Americans, you know, to suckle off the teat of Mother America for that warm milk of the easy life. The truth is these are good people who don't expect any thing other than a chance at a better life. They take jobs that most Americans won't and would suck at if they did.
Their dream is not about making tons of money and stashing the profits overseas to avoid paying taxes, leveraged buyouts and hostile takeovers; it is not about living in a mansion in a gated community, summer homes and vacations at the beach; not about iPads and aps and ballet lessons for their kids, and certainly not about getting free stuff and cushy jobs. Their dream is more noble than that.
Rigoberto has worked for us almost a year now. This diary is based mainly on a conversation we had at a local coffee shop. I already knew some details about his life from things he told me during his job interview and his 90 day review. His single minded focus on supporting his wife and children in Mexico and efforts to bring them to live in America are both humbling and inspirational. For someone like me his story kind of hits the reset button on what it means to be an American, beneficiary of white privilege that I am. Follow below and see if you agree.
Rigoberto (not his real name) is 50, has been working since he was six and has only a sixth grade education. He grew up on his family's ranch in Los Altos de Jalisco, an area in the eastern part of the state, whose residents are known to be of 80-90% European heritage. He does look somewhat European. His short cropped hair is black but his weathered skin is covered with freckles.
His father could neither read nor write. Before Rigo was born he bought some land in Los Altos with the money he earned as a field worker in Nevada and Colorado. He built a house and traded for some cattle to start a small ranch. The ranch was next to the elementary school that Rigo attended, and it was not unusual for his father or grandfather to walk across the road to pull him out of class whenever they needed him to work. Even on days when he was allowed to stay in class he worked long hours, waking at 4:00 am, milking cows, feeding the animals and doing other chores before eating breakfast and getting ready for school, after which he went right back to work on the ranch with his older brother. Together they were expected to draw water for the cattle from the well, among other tasks.
Then when he was ten, his older brother immigrated to the U.S., leaving Rigo to water the cows on his own with only the assistance of a donkey. He trained the donkey to pull the rope, stop and turn at the correct spot, which allowed him to grab the brim-full bucket at just the right time to tip and empty it into the trough without spilling onto the ground. With the thirsty cows waiting he repeated the process until the trough was full.
Rigo quit school after the sixth grade. When talking to him I could tell he was sensitive about this; he explained to me that he knew he would not be able to attend class regularly enough to keep up in class. Against his mother's wishes, he made the decision to drop out of school.
He had cousins who lived in Sonora and owned a store on the border. When his brother would come home in June, they would drive in his truck north to visit them. There they would frequently cross the border into the U.S. and back on shopping errands or to work various day jobs, always returning at the end of the day. Rigo told me the American border guards knew his family well and let them across with no papers and no hassles. When he was 16 he came across but this time climbed over the fence and met his brother waiting in a market on the U.S. side. He would stay here undocumented for the better part of five years. His brother worked at the Claremont Colleges and Rigo got hired for a graveyard shift in the kitchen at a chain restaurant in nearby Chino. He said they did not ask his age or for his green card. They could see by his calloused hands that he was used to hard work and that was all that mattered.
Rigo continued to work for the next five years before returning in 1985 to Mexico just long enough to get his green card and travel back to the states. He actually worked for our company in the mid-nineties, and quit when his first son was born in 1997. He had married a woman he first saw in a video of his cousin's wedding. He said he travelled to Los Altos in 1994 when his father was sick with cancer and looked for her unsuccessfully. He found out who she was and wrote a letter to her from the U.S. asking if she would be his girlfriend. Without ever meeting him she agreed. At his parent's 50th anniversary celebration, on July 4th, he proposed and they were married the next month.
They now have four children, the youngest boy born just over a year ago. Rigo could not be there for the birth and has only seen him once when he was six months old.
Rigo has worked all over the U.S., in Nevada, Colorado, Wisconsin, Texas, Illinois and Florida, he told me, mostly long hours at minimum wage, often eating only tortillas and beans for weeks on end, all the while sending enough money home to support his family, gradually buying 25 acres of land and building a house for them to live. His children attend school and do not have to work the way he did.
He told me about the job he had for eight years before moving back to California. He was working with his brother and cousins in the kitchen of a resort in Wisconsin seven days a week, from 7:00 am to 11:00 pm, during the season May through November. This would allow him to return home to his family for the winter. I asked him if the resort paid him overtime and he said no. The owner made a deal with them. He would give them regular wages and room and board for their extra hours, knowing that they would only work somewhere else on their off hours anyway. So why not do it all for him in one location? He would have continuity from shift to shift, wouldn't have to pay overtime and they wouldn't have to worry about a place to live and travelling from job to job. As long as nobody complained the agreement would hold. Nobody complained.
I asked Rigo why work so hard and spend so much time away from family when he already has a home in Mexico? He simply replied that he wanted a better life for them. He said it is just a matter of time before the narco criminals get driven from the larger cities and migrate to the smaller towns and rural districts where they can get away from the law and intimidate the local populations. He said he has seen it happen many places and he fears for the safety of his children. His plan is to sell his property in Los Altos and use the money buy a house here.
In 2011 Rigo became a legal resident and began the six year legal process to bring his family to America. In 2012 he became a U.S. citizen giving his petition a higher priority. He paid a lawyer $7,000 to take care of the paperwork and pay the $400 processing fee for each family member. His first lawyer was dragging his feet so he hired another lawyer in hopes of getting approval sometime this October. Time is passing quickly however. In March his oldest boy will turn 18 and if he can get him to the U.S. as a juvenile his citizenship will be automatic. Also his daughter is turning 15 very soon and wants to have a quinceañera, but Rigo has told her he cannot afford it because he has spent all his money on the immigration process. He also is worried about taking time off as he already took two weeks in late spring to see his newborn and get his documents in order. His supervisor and I are trying to find a way to help him with this.
So right now he is anxiously waiting for good news. He has quickly proven himself at our company and we have promoted him to lead of the landscaping crew and men's locker room staff, earning two raises for a total of $600/month over where he started last January. His story is probably not that unusual for Hispanic immigrants, and I'm sure there are many tales of struggle more dramatic than his. I know I have made compromises and sacrifices in my life to provide opportunities and a safe and beautiful place for my children to live. But nothing I have had to endure matches his singular sense of purpose and his selfless, grinding sacrifice. My life, and the life of my children, has been one of privilege compared to his.
He has no sense of entitlement. He asks that he be given nothing more than a chance to take his shot. Not for himself, but for his children, and their children after that. With expanding income inequality, and the seemingly growing "I've got mine and you're on your own," (E. Warren) mentality in this country, some of us question if the American Dream still exists. Rigo has been here, under some pretty tough circumstances, for 34 years. He believes the Dream is still alive and is willing to work like hell for it. He is so close. Almost there. An American living just this side of the Dream.