Featured Posts
Bracero’s Hands
By Celia Viramontes
The war had long ended, but the work contracts continued for men with brazos, strong arms, and hands to harvest the fields. At the bracero processing center, they’d spread their hands on a table as officials probed for calluses and pointed towards departing buses. At week’s end, the bus was chugging across Nebraska.
A Leaf in the Wind
By Sylvia Castañeda
A drought affected what few crops they could grow, and the Spanish flu was wiping out their workers. Many men, including Francisco, made the trek north to seek work in the United States. Soon, Francisco found a job in Missouri as a telephone repairman. His sister and her family were working the crop circuit in California, which prompted him to move in with them and seek work there too. All the while, he continued making the trek to and from Mexico.
The Paper Bag Bandit
By Victor Alfaro
I was up for several days on meth and drinking heavily for the past month or so. While meditating on the drops of water hitting my head, I decide to go rob a bank and take my son to Tijuana, Mexico to see my biological father – his new grandpa.
Ay Te Wacho!
By Anonymous
I adored my Gramma. She was one of my best friends.
Then I was told my cariños, my gestures of affection, could be reported as elder abuse.
By that time, Gram was no longer in control of her own life. She was a money-making business.
A Scar for an Electric Guitar
By J. Alejandro Urias
I danced around the landing, giving them every rock ‘n’ roll strut in my repertoire. For the grand finale, I walked down the staircase, and from three stairs up, I turned my back to them, bent my knees, and jumped off. My right foot hit the ground, twisted then cracked. I lost my balance and fell on my butt. We all laughed, but as I went back up those stairs at the end of the day, I was still limping.
Fire
By Jian Huang
The Fashion District was full of clothes that were “Made in the USA.” Big brands employed the little brands, who employed distributors to hire manufacturers that subcontracted with local garment factories. Ten cents a collar, 12 cents a hem, 15 cents a zipper. On a good month, Mom made $4, or even $5, an hour.
Just Visiting
By Cristian Vasquez
We moved into that one-bedroom apartment in 1993, escaping Watts and the aftermath of the L.A. Riots. It was safer than our old neighborhood, but violence still broke out. Less than two months after moving in we experienced the first and only drive-by shooting on our block. I was sitting in the top bunk bed, right next to the window, watching television when I heard the gunshots. I jumped off the bed and lay on the carpet.
Billy
By David Fallon
Billy was one of the first homeless people we housed. He moved into a small studio apartment outside of MacArthur Park.
Almost as soon as he was housed, Billy’s whole attitude changed. His situation became an example of the difficulties we faced in keeping housed the chronically homeless — people who are often mentally and physically ill as well as drug addicted.
Tamborazo!
By Monique Quintero
Like many others during the Great Depression, Antolino’s family followed the available work; from mining in Colorado to the sugar beet fields in Rapid City, South Dakota, back to Colorado. He, his father, and brothers continued to perform big band dance music. Then in 1932, Guadalupe moved the family to Cueva Grande, Zacatecas – where none of his children except his oldest son had ever visited.
It Was a Sunday
By Richard Zamora
I was feeling a little car sick as we drove to the Toy-R-Us. A cool chill traveled through my spine. I pictured myself gliding through the wind, my body rushing against the opposing breeze. I’d been waiting for this for a very long time. Finally, I was going to get my new bike. We pulled up to the Toy-R-Us parking lot trying to find a spot near the entrance.
“You happy?” he asked, with his strong Mexican accent.
Marvin’s Crossing
By Jessica Gonzalez
Every other day for two weeks after Dolly and Eddy left Tijuana Marvin accompanied Uncle Edwin to a local payphone to call Marvin’s mother for an update on the visas. While Eddy spoke to Dolly, Marvin played with the coin return slot inside the phone. He examined the white paper his uncle had laid on the platform of the booth and read the numbers written on it, thinking of his mother.
Warrior Rider
By Fabiola Manriquez
The sirens were blaring. The crowd was urging me on. Men, women, and children were jumping up and down, holding each other. Others were cheering with their dogs, some on a leash while others in their arms. Some riders, friends, and family held their faces as they sobbed.
I Figure I’ll Stop Scrappin’: My Three Thanksgivings
By Matthew Loflin Davis
I was out of work and I had my habit and I was sick. I could feel the bile in my stomach churning and my legs wouldn’t hold still. My nose and eyes were running and I was sneezing eight times in a row. I wheeled myself down the street on that frigid December day while carrying my aluminum extension ladder resting on the arm of my chair.
One Day in Compton
By Johnathan Quevedo
I fell in love with Los Angeles. The mountains, the deserts, the climate, and the beaches were so different from what I knew. When you aren’t from here, the vision of California you have is what Aaron Spelling and Arnold Schwarzenegger show you: Malibu, Hollywood, and Beverly Hills. A lot is overlooked
Desert Sea
By Jessica Gonzalez
It was the summer of 1963 and Mexicali was hot as hell. Back then, the streets were dirt roads; only main boulevards were paved. It was a hot, dusty hole of a city, but Dad had learned of the border town’s promise and had moved our family there from Guaymas, Sonora, when I was 4.
Mabe’s Dream
By Tené Harris
There was something really peaceful about driving through this mostly rural area on a wide-open two-lane highway. The sky was blue with specks of pollen from springtime blossoms spiraling through the air. At 75 miles per hour, bugs spattered against the glass. It was warm but nothing like the heat that dominated June and July. I let the window down and felt the push of wind against my hand. It brought back childhood memories of family road trips.
In the Company of Memories
By Eric Franco
A long crackled road runs through a small collection of houses, a village far from any city. The sky above this village is light gray during winter and the fields of green crops are now dry and faded yellow.
Daryoush, VJ, Simón and Al
In 1984 I returned to L.A., my hometown, after being away for almost 17 years. With my 3-month old son Tomás in tow, I arrived from Mallorca, Spain with the clothes on my back, and a few battle scars from a tumultuous relationship with his father. I was ready for a new start, and the safety net of home and family.
Heart of Roberto
By Monique Quintero
The rain came down hard and fast on the September morning my family held the funeral mass at St. Mary’s in Whittier for my uncle Bobby.
Bird Man
By Richard Gatica
I wake.
I’m serving life in prison, but today I will be as free as any man can be. I climb out of bed and check my window for fog. There is none. If there was, for security purposes, there’d be no yard.
