OK,
so
we have
wonderful Mr.
Anthony Gathers who is a Phoenix legend.
Uh,
he owns and is a barber with AG's barbershop.
Um,
he's also a member of the Divine Nine,
the Omega Psi Phi,
um,
so that's very important to this conversation.
Uh,
we have Lorena Austin who's rep.
She's the rep for the LD,
but she's my homie,
and,
uh,
her family's been here for
over 100 years.
Um,
I'm sure she'll tell you some about that
and
thank you for being here.
Um,
we also have,
sorry,
we have Doctor Jason Mendez.
He is the co-founder of the Block Chronicles,
a professor,
um,
multidisciplinary artist,
and him and Juan go way back to the parking
lot at Duke University where Jason invited Juan to,
uh,
give a guest lecture,
and the rest is history for them,
and you just met,
uh,
Doctor Juan Carrillo,
so.
I'm gonna go ahead and pass the mic now,
but once I pass the mic,
I'm gonna play your little snippet of
music.
I picked that song because it's always summertime in Arizona.
And I'm from Arizona.
I'm all uh.
It's a long story.
I'm from Phoenix,
Arizona.
I was born in Phoenix,
Arizona.
Parents ended up going to University of Arizona,
so
ended up moving to Tucson as a,
a child
and growing up at the University of Arizona campus basically,
um.
Where my dad reminds me that.
The milk you got was from the cafeteria.
So he ended up getting
a scholarship at the University of Arizona and uh
the rest is history.
Um,
stayed in Tucson
until I was a sophomore.
I went to Rincon High School,
had a good time,
a lot of friends.
Then my dad was like,
oh,
we gotta move.
I'm like,
what?
We gotta move,
yeah.
Well,
He ended up getting stationed at Fort Huachuca,
which was an hour away,
so we ended up moving to Sierra Vista,
Arizona.
So I got to see a lot of Arizona.
Um,
ended up,
and I'm moving kinda fast,
ended up graduating from Buena High School,
played football,
ended up going to Prairie View A&M.
Uh,
which is an HBCU in Texas.
I was accepted into their engineering program and I didn't even like math,
but
so uh let's try it.
So I ended up going there,
stayed in the program.
Uh,
got
to Prairie View in the summer of '89,
stayed in the program
for the whole summer,
then
eventually,
well,
went to Prairie View in the fall as well,
and I started cutting hair.
One of these guys,
uh,
he was like,
man,
you cut pretty good.
So I started building the clientele
and one guy said,
man,
you're a little
better than me.
Why don't you
Here,
I got some extra clippers and a cape.
Why don't you take over the business?
That's all I'm saying,
I'll take over the business,
hey,
25 bucks.
Can we work it out in haircuts?
He said,
yeah,
we'll work it out in haircuts.
So I ended up
cutting all this hair at Prairie View A&M and
I was supposed to be going to school and get an education,
engineer.
Parents had all this,
yeah,
he's,
he's gonna do this.
Anthony's doing good.
They're not knowing I'm
not going to class.
I'm cutting the hair.
Um,
so.
I called my parents up.
I said,
hey,
you know,
I,
I think I found my calling.
I said,
I,
we know you found your calling.
You're at Prairie View A&M
to be an engineer.
And I said,
oh,
OK.
And so I had to break the news that,
hey,
I need y'all to come pick me up because I found
out that I want to cut hair and be a barber.
It got quiet.
But they came and picked me up nevertheless.
My dad was in the military,
so at this point,
he was at,
in Louisiana.
So they said,
well,
you'll come on home and stay with us for a little bit and
you'll go to barber school and that's fine.
If that's what you want to do.
By God,
you do that.
Ended up
being in Louisiana for a little bit.
I really didn't,
I,
I didn't really like it.
And I said,
well,
I looked for barber schools and I said,
well,
I don't know,
I don't really like that one.
So I had an aunt that lived right here in Mesa down the street
from here.
And she said,
well,
why don't you just come here and we'll find you a place.
So I
got in my Volkswagen Bug,
1964 Volkswagen Bug,
red.
Got everything I own in this Volkswagen bug,
and I just changed the engine cause I was
uh
making sure that it was good to make this long trip.
That's a long trip.
Louisiana.
Leesville,
Louisiana to Phoenix,
Arizona.
In a bug
But I love my bugs,
so I said,
let's go.
It made it.
But um,
so
I,
I put all my clothes and everything I own
into this Volkswagen bug.
I said,
OK,
then I prayed.
I said,
Laura,
get me here,
OK.
So,
got in,
I,
I was trying to become a man at this point.
My,
my,
my dad said,
hey,
I'll help you drive.
I said,
no,
you don't want to drive.
I got stuff in the front seat.
My passenger is a um
A suitcase
So I said,
nah,
I'm,
I'm gonna do this myself.
So I got in my Volkswagen bug.
Headed to Phoenix,
Arizona to go to barber school.
Got to San Antonio
and stayed overnight.
Going 55,
mind you.
55 cause the guy that
checked my engine out,
he's a mechanic,
he said,
do not go over 55.
You will not make it.
So I was obedient and listened to him and I said,
I want to make it.
So I got to San Antonio and was like,
yes.
Parents gave me an Exxon credit card.
I had some cash saved,
saved up,
and you know,
I,
you know,
I tore that credit card up,
you know,
buying all kinds of stuff.
But anyway,
they saw the bill and was like,
wow.
So in the
Ended up staying at an overnight in San Antonio and I said,
I gotta get to Phoenix.
Got up early,
drove into Phoen drove from San Antonio,
Texas.
Doing 55.
In a Volkswagen bug.
With all my stuff piled up.
Got to Phoenix,
stopped at some friend's house.
Hey,
I'm here.
What you doing here,
man?
You're supposed to be at school.
No,
I'm back,
man.
I'm back.
So ended up,
long story short,
going to a barber school here in Phoenix.
And I knew that one thing I had to do
is if I left Prairie View A&M.
I would have to
really do well
at what I'm doing,
so.
I had these visions
of owning a barbershop.
So I came here and went to barber school,
and as I was coming
over here,
I lived in Mesa when I got here,
mind you.
So this brings back a lot of memories over in this area and I started thinking about,
man,
I was all up and down here.
Man,
this is,
this is good.
So my story kinda changed.
I was just gonna tell you something else,
but I'm just gonna tell you
my story.
Ended up going to barber school,
building a clientele,
acting like I was going to ASU.
All my friends went to ASU,
so I was like,
hey,
I'm there.
So you would think,
they was like,
yeah,
man,
remember when we went to ASU?
I was like,
yeah,
man.
Yeah,
man,
come on.
And so,
you know,
I enjoyed that.
I really loved the college life,
so I was around my college friends cutting all their hair,
hair during barber school and finally got into a shop.
Worked at a shop on Southern and Mill.
How many of you know where Southern and Mill is?
All right.
So it was the first,
uh,
African-American barbershop,
which is my most,
some of you may remember,
uh,
the shop
over there,
uh,
so.
Started working with this guy,
Mose and his wife and beautiful people,
uh,
treated me like a grandson.
Show me the business.
I worked for him for 4 years and he said,
I'm done.
I'm selling the shop.
I'm old
So I had my little,
I had a
little bit of money,
but at this point,
my parents were in
Germany.
Remember,
my dad was in the military.
So,
I was trying to call Germany and say,
hey,
I,
I need some money,
man,
to help me with the shop,
and he was like,
OK,
we'll do it.
And so I was supposed to buy the shop with another guy who worked with me.
Well,
the guy's parents said,
look,
We're gonna buy you this shop.
This is your shop.
So we had this big plan,
we're friends,
we're tight.
We're gonna buy it together,
we're gonna do this.
I come to work one day,
and he tells me,
hey,
my mom and dad bought the shop for me.
Dang,
punched me in the gut.
But,
yeah,
they,
they said that,
so I was like,
OK,
I was cool.
I was,
I wasn't.
I was like,
OK,
I got it.
I had to go outside for a minute.
I'm like,
I don't believe he did this.
Best thing that ever happened.
That's OK.
All right.
I stayed there.
I didn't argue with them because we're friends.
I was like,
hey,
I understand your,
that your parents are doing something
for you,
and I get that.
I get it.
And he was like,
well,
you know,
that's how it goes.
I was like,
cool.
So,
about a month later,
a young man came in,
he was going to Chandler Prom.
And he said,
hey man,
I know you've been cutting my hair for a long time.
We need a black barbershop in Chandler.
All these other people try to say,
no,
I told you to go there.
No,
it was a kid
that went to Chandler High School
and said,
we need a black barbershop in Chandler.
So I said,
OK,
I'm listening to this kid.
I'm a kid myself.
I'm 20 years old,
1920 years old.
No,
24.
I'm still a kid myself,
cutting kids here.
I'm like,
I'm foolish to go listen to these kids,
but I wanna go see what you're talking about.
He said,
I know a place,
this guy
even left the chair in there,
it's perfect for you.
I said,
well,
OK.
So,
I'm foolish enough to go and look.
It's on Ray Road between
Elma School and Arizona Avenue.
There was a tumbleweed in the parking lot.
I'm not,
no exaggeration.
There was a tumbleweed in the parking lot.
I said,
what am I,
is this the wild west or what?
So
I called the company,
uh,
the property management company.
And I said,
I want to look at it.
So I went in there and looked at it,
and I said,
well,
I get it.
How much
do I need to put down?
He said,
and
1000 down,
the rent is 500 bucks.
Now,
you can't get rent like that anymore,
I know that,
but
so 500 bucks,
so I said,
OK.
I had a good friend of mine named Ken Countryman who said,
uh,
I'll look over your lease.
He's an attorney.
He said,
man,
I'll look over your lease for you and
make sure everything is all right.
I appreciate Ken cause
he made sure all my stuff was right and correct,
so.
Ended up
Only have 500,
because I gave the other 3000 that I had saved
up to a guy that was building cabinets for me.
So I said,
hey,
I only got 500.
He said,
let's,
let me tell you something.
Give me the 500.
And you better have that 500 back next week or I'm gonna lose my job.
So I stopped what I was doing.
I gave him that 500.
I was working on a Friday,
I'll never forget,
went downtown Phoenix and paid him the 500.
Me and him have been friends ever since.
I've been looking for him.
His name is Evans Van Angelo.
I'll never forget because he trusted me,
a 25 year old
black kid from Tucson,
Arizona.
So,
um,
ended up.
Opening the shop.
Uh,
got a few barbers in Chandler and man,
I was,
I was busy.
But by the way,
I gave them a month's notice that I was leaving.
And they fired me.
I had a little more clientele than he did,
um.
But they fired me.
I wasn't mad,
and,
and these are the same people I went
over their house for Christmas and Thanksgiving.
But I,
I'm still not mad at him.
I still got love for him.
But anyway.
OK.
So,
ended up being the first black barbershop in Chandler.
I'm still there today,
2828 years later.
Watch Chandler grow,
um,
The one thing I will leave you with is this.
I went to every
I went to every barbershop in Chandler.
And I introduced myself before I started any cutting anything.
The shot was done,
ready to go.
I introduced myself to every
barber that was in Chandler,
and that was the best thing I did because it was,
it's a form of respect,
and I shook their hand and I looked them in the eye,
and I let them know that,
hey,
if you have somebody
that you can't cut,
send them to me.
And that
That's history.
I got to be friends with all those old guys that are gone now,
but we became good friends
and we would meet at a little spot called Hoosiers
right there in Chandler and uh break bread and have breakfast.
We can't wait to hear more of your story,
so I hope you'll,
you know,
afterwards,
we'll have a chance to chat with people and so
ask all the questions you want.
I don't wanna talk.
I'm gonna listen to the riffs.
Um,
I picked that song because I come from the barrio.
My family comes from the barrio,
um,
and it just reminds me of low riders and cruising and,
and,
and my family and kicking back and have a good time.
So every time I hear that song,
it immediately puts me in a better mood and kind of
just reminds me where I'm from and gives me like grounding
place,
right?
So,
hey everyone,
thank you for coming.
I am State Representative Lorena Austin,
and I have the honor and privilege of serving
my community where my family has lived here for over 100 years in Mesa,
Arizona.
So,
my roots run super deep,
but I come from two.
I'm so lucky,
especiallyillos Muertos.
So for all that celebrate,
um,
we welcome all of our ancestors back here.
We take their legacies
and we honor them in hopes that we can live the lives that lead us back to them one day.
And this is a super important day for me
because I come from two incredible,
amazing families.
I don't know how I was so lucky and fortunate to be born to,
to both sides of my family,
but I'm,
I take them with me every single day.
If you look at my arm,
it's just filled with my grandmothers and the women in my family who,
um,
have just been so instrumental,
and that's what I bring.
Every single day to my community and,
and it's an honor to,
to be recognized as a friend of Cristina because she's got real high standards,
deservedly so,
and she just does,
does not,
if you're a friend of Christina,
raise your hand,
wow,
dang,
that's a shoot,
that's a big deal,
um,
because,
because I think that's part of,
you know,
community and really.
You can tell when someone is from your community and you
can tell when they give a damn about their community,
right?
And so thank you,
thank you for that.
And I actually would not be a state representative if it wasn't for Christine.
This is now the Christina Bustos show,
future Doctor Bustos,
because,
uh,
I was a teacher at the time in MPS and took me to knock my very first door,
uh,
in the district here as I started my campaign in 2022,
but way before that,
before I was even born.
On my,
uh,
mom's side,
my great grandparents,
Bartolo and Felicia Navarro came here from Guanajuato and the FA,
which is Mexico City,
to
Kansas.
They crossed the border for 3 cents,
uh,
into the United States
and
they landed in Manhattan,
Kansas,
where my great grandfather was in charge of inspecting,
I think,
about 8 miles of track a day.
Uh,
for the railroad.
And my grandmother,
who is my,
my everything and the person
I honor most on this day because um
she was my best friend and her name was Margarita Navarro
and she was born in a boxcar the day after Christmas in Manhattan,
Kansas in 1925
in a boxcar
and she would go on to become the oldest of seven kids,
uh,
to my,
my great grandparents and they would,
uh,
leave Manhattan,
Kansas and migrate to California and they became farm workers,
so they followed the,
the fields.
And they eventually landed
in uh Santa Paula,
California,
on their way to San Jose,
but my grandmother would tell me these really grand stories of how
they would just endure backbreaking work in the sun and they would pick,
you know,
fruits in the fields and they lived under a tarp for 3 years.
Um,
and endured so many things
until finally landing in San Jose,
California,
where my uh mother was born.
So she's the second,
uh,
child born to my grandmother
and uh my grandmother would go on to raise uh six kids by her own.
She would flee domestic violence
and she would divorce my grandfather at a time when it was not popular
um in the 50s and 60s,
and she
would work three jobs and she worked in the cannery,
she cleaned strangers' houses and she stocked shelves at midnight
when all of her kids were sleeping and so.
I know I got my work ethic from her.
Um,
my mom jokes with me,
if I don't have more than
2 jobs,
she's like,
Are you OK,
Mija?
Like,
are you good?
Because I always have like multiple jobs,
uh,
because
I was just taught to,
to work hard.
And so
my mom
is
the fiercest woman you'd ever meet.
She's the person in the grocery store that will call someone out
for being racist in front of everybody and does not care.
She also made me do push-ups in public,
did not care.
Um,
but she
was really active in the civil rights movement.
Uh,
she,
uh,
was very,
very active in the Chicano movement
and,
you know,
talks about her story,
and it's absolutely incredible,
and she actually was offered a full ride
to the University of Washington,
coming from the barrio in San Jose,
California,
and to the nursing program.
And
is so smart,
is the smartest person I know.
She was offered a full ride to medical school,
but she turned it down because she became very involved in activism but
also really relate to me the importance
of understanding that she wasn't really supported
to,
you know,
go
seek out education,
higher education,
right?
Unfortunately,
culturally it was,
you know.
Go get married,
have kids,
or be a secretary or something like that,
but um.
My mom,
I think
to this day understood the value of education.
I'm so grateful she would end up becoming
my Montessori teacher
as a young kid.
She traded,
uh,
cleaning,
uh,
someone's house who hosted a Montessori school and taught Spanish
lessons so myself and my brothers could go to Montessori.
So
she's ever the teacher,
still teaches to this day,
and,
um,
so that's on my mother's side of the family on my father's side rooted here,
I'm a 5th generation Arizonan.
Family has lived here again for over 100 years,
um,
started in
Pinal County,
uh,
my great grandfather,
people are like,
how is your last name Austin?
I said,
listen,
it was my great,
great grandfather
was Frederick Levi Austin,
and he was a,
a merchant.
And if anyone knows that book,
Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee,
he's actually mentioned in there,
um,
uh,
for a good reason
and
Thankfully,
I'm really happy about that.
Um but he married my great grandmother who was Yaqui in,
in Mexicana,
so indigenous here to this area,
and they would move their family here in
the twenties and so their son was my grandfather
and uh so his name was Albert Beto Austin
and uh he married my grandmother,
Margarita Rodriguez,
who was from Chandler.
She's from uh South Si Puedes Chandler,
which means get out if you can.
So very,
uh,
humble roots,
and they would establish a grocery store here right
literally across the street in Washington Escobedo Park,
which was the segregated
part of Mesa.
Uh,
they would establish Albert's Market,
which was well known in the community for
serving everyone regardless of who you were.
Myatta even learned Papago so he could trade
with the Native American tribes we have here,
and they were known for coming in and because he would,
he would let them
take things on credit,
and that wasn't very common.
And so.
They would come in.
My dad said he wondered if my thought they lost sleep at night because
they would come and wipe the whole store out and
then just hope they came back the next week,
you know,
to pay,
and,
and they did because he developed such a rapport
with them and was well known in the community and I
know my dad is such a good extension of him.
Uh,
I never got to meet my dad.
Uh,
my nana was wonderful,
but my dad was born in a segregated neighborhood.
My dad is alive.
He is 73 years old,
still as active as ever in our community,
but
I think it really speaks to the understanding of,
of,
you know,
we have to understand our history to understand why we got
here and how we can move forward in a positive way,
in a collective way.
And so he would go on to,
um,
Uh,
he went to Catholic school here.
He would go on to Jesuit College.
He ended up in Santa Clara University,
also became really involved in the Chicano movement,
separate from my mother.
They didn't know each other at the time,
but he got arrested at a protest,
and he decided he never wanted to get arrested,
so he applied for law school
and he ended up,
uh,
going to Berkeley and so he went to Berkeley Law School and,
um.
Was had a really budding great law career at Santa Clara County
Attorney's Office and then my thought developed Alzheimer's
really bad at a young age.
So he came back
to,
to Mesa.
He met my mom right before coming back and they moved back
here in the late 70s and my dad uh became really involved.
He ended up working for the Attorney General's office.
He actually helped implement the first affordable housing
policy here in the state of Arizona.
He also established the mediation program here from the state
of Arizona,
but you would never know that because
he's a man who doesn't desire uh
Adoration or acknowledgement,
you do it because it's the right thing
and so I come from these incredible roots.
He came back,
uh,
helped establish the Mesa Association of Hispanic Citizens,
and also established the East Valley Hispanic Chamber of Commerce.
So
I'm sure you're so surprised that I caught
the bug for community advocacy and wanting to,
to make a difference,
but,
um,
went through a lot as a kid though too.
Parents divorced at a young age.
Families are very complicated.
I landed in Fresno for a while with my mom.
And um
experienced a lot of hardships there
uh she dated someone who wasn't really positive in our
lives that landed us in domestic violence housing and,
um,
uh,
thankfully we were able to receive Section 8 housing because we went to the shelter
and got resources that we needed and so
that really shapes a lot of
how I,
you know,
navigate policy and,
and,
you know,
how I serve my community so.
Um,
did that,
came back here in 2006,
moved back to Arizona,
tried to enter college.
I was already,
really involved in high school and stuff and leadership,
but I sucked at math,
so I thought I wasn't smart.
So I dropped out of college five times,
um,
started just working on jobs,
moved
to Saint Louis with my brother in 2012,
experienced Ferguson in 2014 when Michael Brown was killed.
That was 15 minutes from where I lived,
and that changed my life completely.
Came back to Arizona,
got super involved,
um.
Re-attending college,
uh,
took my first sociology class,
boom,
changed my life,
became student body president,
graduated in 2018,
uh,
got a Fulbright scholarship to ASU,
received my degree in immigration policy and
economy from the School of Transborder Studies,
graduated number of my class.
May 2020,
COVID hit,
um.
Jumped back into community advocacy,
United Food Bank work,
did COVID-19 work with uh my family and local restaurant here,
Republic Empanada.
We took food PPE supplies all the way up to Navajo Nation when
everything is closed.
Doctors at the border were coming here.
DC didn't give
a hoot.
Um,
and then never wanted to run for politics,
was applying for law school in 22,
and a friend called me,
said,
you should run for office,
and I said,
hell no.
Um,
I'm going to law school.
My life is finally,
you know,
in this trajectory that was positive,
and she said,
Lorena,
no one from Mesa is running.
People are moving from crowded primaries,
and no one understands our community.
And so,
She convinced me.
I pulled my law school applications,
ran for office with a month left of signatures,
got the most signatures
because of people like Christina and people in this room
like Michelle and Lita and so many others here,
and in 2022 I was elected unknowingly as the
first Chicane non-binary legislator in the entire country.
So,
um.
That's how I got here.
Long story short.
There's so much more to her and
shout out to Republica Empanada who's the people that gave us,
well,
we
purchased fruit from,
um,
also
panaderiay Carneseria Estrella which is on horn and,
uh,
Broadway,
so check it out,
um,
and mangoes
on Main for the horchata the agu frescos.
Um,
and
here you go.
That song begins with the line of just manifesting everything in my whole life,
and I think I'm in a season now at 44 years old
that coming here,
what I,
oh,
excuse me,
coming here,
I carry with you an 8 year old little kid who
used to dream from his fire escape in the South Bronx,
and now 44,
you know,
35 years later,
uh,
manifesting those dreams that that young kid had on a fire escape.
So I bring that with you,
uh,
here,
um.
That little kid,
what he learned over the course of his life about storytelling
was he assumed it was always about remembering.
And remembering has to do with nostalgia and nostalgia has to do with loss
and what I realized those things are still
alive because we carry them wherever we are
and so part of our storytelling is about witnessing
and so I wanna pause for a moment
to think about the reda that we have here.
And just to pause for about maybe 30 seconds a minute and
just give an opportunity for you to bring those names into the space
of,
of who you carry,
those places you carry,
whether
it's physical,
logistic places,
or they're just
people who are living or have passed.
So for me,
I carry my grandfather Jamon Mendez.
I carry my father,
Jose Antonio Mendez,
I carry my kids.
So I open it up,
you know,
fill this space with those people that you carry.
I'll,
I'll pause for just 30 seconds.
As far as place,
I carry the South Bronx with me,
particularly the Hunts Point section of the South Bronx.
Uh,
as a young kid,
I was always enamored by
just MCs who used to rock the mic and always wanted to do that,
but never thought that it could be my,
what I do for a living.
And so my grandfather,
whose picture is over there,
he was a plumber who moved from Puerto Rico to the,
to the Lower East Side in the 50s
and he moved from the Lower East Side to the South Bronx because.
It was a better
uh environment for his kids.
And I always wonder
what the hell is going on in the Lower East
Side where South Bronx when the Bronx was burning,
was like a better movement,
uh,
you know,
for my family.
Um but that I grew up in the same block that
my mother's family uh who moved in the Bronx in the 70s
all grew.
So my family across the street from one another.
Um,
I want to start by just sharing
a poem that I have written,
uh,
when I began to exit academia.
I spent about two decades of my life in academia,
but always felt
that my voice was constrained without
the structures of how academia usually,
uh,
operates.
And so,
uh,
to have that freedom,
I kind of walked away from academia to give more privilege to that,
that 8 year old little kid who wanted to be an artist.
Uh,
one of my favorite writers,
poets,
artists is,
uh,
Joy Harjo,
and so she has this poem called Remember the Wind.
And so after Remember the Wind,
I wrote this,
this poem.
Uh,
it's
kind of based upon the life cycle of a dandelion.
It's available online,
it's published in Poetry magazine.
So the way I wrote it was the actual life cycle
of a dandelion.
So the story about impermanence,
mindfulness,
um,
And just pausing for a moment
to kind of think about everything that's going on.
I wrote this because I actually went back to get a master's
in creative writing,
uh,
10 years after I got my PhD because I just want to
grow as a storyteller,
but then COVID hit,
so I,
I knew what the experience
of my students was like of being a student during the pandemic where.
Just couldn't do it.
I got 3 kids.
I got life.
I got students
who are saying,
hey,
my best friend just tried to commit suicide,
but I can't help him because we're confined.
And so this was a poem that I wrote because I was actually in my yard
and I looked next to me and there was a dandelion.
Observation
Under the warm sun,
I laid a twill blanket across the lime and pear colored grass.
Near the edge of the blanket stood a dandelion.
I had seen plenty of dandelions before but never paid them much attention.
And then I think of Joy Harjo in her poem
Remember,
we are called to remember the plants,
trees,
animal life,
and all their tribes,
their families,
their histories too.
And so I remember a single dandelion plant will live up to 3 cycles.
That's 3 generations of dandelions.
Remembering a dandelion is not just remembering its life cycle,
but remembering every dandelion cycle
that has led to its germination.
Stage 1.
A dandelion begins life at the seedling.
Each seed is attached to a single feather called a pappus,
the hair-like bristles that help it fly.
Carried by the wind,
the a sea can drift up to 30 ft before
landing on soil and producing close to another 2000 dandelions.
Stage 28 to 15 weeks later,
the bud blossoms.
The round flower head looks like a little sun.
The dandelion's petals are bright yellow,
and their tooth-like shapes give them their name,
dent de leon or lion's tooth.
The plant's leaves grow closer to the ground,
spread 3 to 10 inches across the surface,
while the roots continue growing 6 to 18 inches deep.
Stage 3.
A mature dandelion plant produces about 12 flower stems.
Each grow about 12 inches tall and produces a single bud.
The flower stem has,
has about 7
days before it dies and becomes a puffball or what is commonly called a wish flower.
Stage 4,
the flower head closes,
the yellow petals fade in color,
and the bud reopens into a little tiny moon of white feathers.
A wish flower can produce up to 175 windborne seeds.
Folklore superstitions believe wish flowers are dreams or messages delivered
by the wind to our loved ones.
Reflection.
I remember the dandelion I sat next to.
In a few days,
its petals will fade and its bud will close.
When it reopens a wish flower,
and the wind will come and carry its
seeds off to begin another generation of dandelions.
In the story of the dandelion,
the wind is the knowing.
The wind's voice can be calming,
a soft breeze on a warm spring afternoon,
or unpredictable and violent,
una tormenta,
as Miabuguilta would say.
Sometimes we are the wind in the dandelion's life cycle.
Sometimes,
excuse me,
a breath of air making a wish,
watching the seas float away like miniature umbrellas that have folded inside out,
inside us,
out.
Note,
Harjo writes,
Remember the wind.
Remember her voice.
She knows the origin of this universe.
I wanna pause just to say thank you to the folks
who put together this event because this is an anomaly,
like it doesn't exist in many academic spaces
where you can have a genuine space where you just tell stories.
And so
it was one of the reasons why I walked away from academia
and uh.
The last semester
that I walked away,
I remember doing the annual review,
uh,
with,
you know,
the chair of my department,
and I had published a number of things that year of articles
and,
uh,
essays and different chapters,
and I published that that same poem
and when I was going through the my annual review,
the chair was like,
oh yeah,
and you published and the poem.
And for me,
I was saying
that and the poem will be read by more people than anything I ever produced.
And so that was what was held to me close.
And so here's another poem I wanna read.
It's called And the Poem.
This is for Doctors Darah De Mendez,
uh,
my wife,
uh,
three brilliant black women that have shaped
my artistry and my voice,
uh,
Doctor Alexis Pauling Gums and Doctor Tamika Cage Conley.
You can't visually see.
But the way it was written,
one of my other favorite poems,
uh,
poets,
excuse me,
is Lady Long Soldier,
and she plays with a lot of white space on
the page in terms of how she structures her language.
So one side
is either
conversations or Alexis,
Doctor Alexis Pauline Gunn's poems,
which is called The Shape of My Impact,
and on the other side is my response.
So I put
all three of them in conversation with me on the page.
Uh,
so I'll start off.
Have you written poetry?
I don't know if I can
If you can tell the truth,
then you can write poetry.
Truth is,
I needed to breathe,
a mindful breath,
eyes closed,
inhale
through your nose,
3 seconds,
hold,
2 seconds,
exhale
through your mouth,
4 seconds,
repeat.
Conscious breathing becomes awareness,
awareness becomes clarity in focus,
I see the shape of my impact.
The university was not created to save my life.
My department annual review read you publish X amount of articles,
X amount of chapters,
and a poem.
The universe,
the university is not about the preservation of a bright bright brown body
circa 88.
The exception of that and the poem.
8 years old,
consumed with what ifs,
and how about that and how about this,
would sit on a 3 by 5 rode on fire escape dreaming of possibility.
The university will use me alive and use me dead.
No.
Definition an active instance of refusing
examples of no in a sentence
no
because no is a complete sentence.
A no to them is a yes to you.
The university does not intend to love me.
I intend to love me.
The university does not know how to love me.
I know how to love me.
The university in fact does not love me.
The university,
you're,
if you're from the Bronx,
you get that one,
or New York.
In fact,
does love me,
but the universe does.
If the universe is energy and everything,
then I am
the manifestation of a constellation of stars whose
shape is not bound by space and time
circa 2022.
I was black on my block in front of the same house my Abulita purchased in the 1950s
after her mother Elda Mira Malave,
her father Tomamas Malabe,
and her brothers moved from Ayibonito,
Puerto Rico to the States.
Although my family no longer owns the property 660 Menaa Street,
Bronx,
New York,
10474
will forever be Virginia's house.
My universe,
my everything.
That and the poem
was needed to.
Was the therapy needed to heal generations of Mendezes,
Malaves,
Riveras all died knowing what the front entrance
of the First National City Bank looks like.
I told them from the inside,
it ain't shit.
That and the poem is a promise fulfilled to realize I am.
I told Juan I'm gonna cut into his time a little bit
only because I want to pay homage to my grandfather.
This was
a brief monologue that I,
I,
I had opened my play Sons of the Boogie with this past summer.
We had a stage reading.
Um,
before I begin,
I wanted to share another excerpt from Joy Hargo's,
uh,
poem Calling for the Spirit Back from wandering the Earth in its human feet.
The journey might take you a few hours,
a day,
a year,
a few years,
100,
1000,
or even more.
Let go of the pain you are holding in your mind,
your shoulders,
your heart,
all the way to your feet.
Let go of the pain of your ancestors to make
way for those who are heading in our direction.
Then you must do this
help the next person find their way through the dark.
On May 18th,
1970,
the eastern bluebird was adopted as the New York State
bird by a Senate vote of 144 to 1.
This is all true.
The one was Assemblyman Seymour Parsonna of the Bronx,
who stood in front of Senate and in all his Bronxness was like,
Nah,
son,
get
out of here.
He ain't quite say it like that,
but what he did say,
and I quote,
Who has seen a blue jay,
bluebird,
whatever they are,
except on greeting cards and people who live in rural America?
People who live in the Lower East Side and West Side and North Side and South Side,
How are we going to go along with a bird we never saw?
So as an alternative to the bluebird,
a 70-man posa suggested a bird which represented the city as familiar to the people.
Y'all want to take a guess?
What's that?
Yeah,
pigeon,
I got a tattoo right here.
He ain't,
excuse me.
Uh,
growing up in the Bronx,
pigeons were just a part of everyday life,
almost invisible.
But my mom's,
she saw them.
When my sister and I were kids,
Mommy used to tell us stories about this pigeon park in Old San Juan
called Parca de las Palomas.
She said the park sat at the top of the city wall
surrounded by shades of blueness from the ocean to the sky.
Her father would sell small bags of dried corn
to visitors so they could feed the hundreds of pigeons
that called the park home.
She would get all animated,
telling us how the pigeons will land all over you cimeto cabeza,
Porto braso.
When she wasn't helping her father,
she would climb the tallest tree in the park,
unable to fly herself,
that was the closest she could come to feeling as free as the birds.
Did you know before pigeons were called pigeons,
they were crowned with the name Rock Dove?
I kind of rock with that,
no pun intended.
The rock dove carries a sense of nobility,
like royalty.
They even look the part with their iridescent necks and sleek gray bodies
and those two black bars across their wings,
stripes of honor.
Mommy wasn't really religious,
but she believed rock dugs were good omens,
delivering messages to us from loved ones both far away and condidos.
She even tried to convince my sister and
I that the pigeons chilling on the fire escape
right outside our kitchen window had actually flown all the way from
Puerto Rico to the South Bronx just to pay her a visit.
I read Rock does navigate using landmarks and roads,
rarely getting lost when returning home because of their exceptional memory.
They can fly up to 100 miles without food,
only occasionally stopping for water.
In fact,
the longest recorded journey lasted 55 days,
covering over 7000 miles
from London to South Africa.
I guess there was some truth to mommy's visitors.
Mommy would say pigeons are symbolos de voluntar Fuerte,
symbols of strong will,
and if one were to cross your path,
it's a sign to keep flying.
Despite their will,
sometimes a rock dove loses its way during a storm,
or as mommy put it,
un tormenta.
Force winds and heavy rains can disorient a rock dove,
making it hard to find its way home.
Thank you.
So
I'm gonna talk about my connection to water.
I wrote something.
Let's see how this goes,
all right?
In the words of Pablo Neruda,
I need the sea because it teaches me.
In the story and reflection of fragments,
I will speak about water and how it connects to my notion of home.
Rumors and misgivings,
community and information lesson
wind
creeks,
coves,
turtles,
seagulls,
imaginary and real soccer games that may or may not have
been played on the sand that particular day in California beaches,
we were there.
And I'm still there.
We are all still there.
Between the city,
Los Angeles,
where I grew up,
the Pacific Ocean,
there was something called childhood.
In that childhood,
in the in between in the nepanla space,
I also had a place called the sofa with flowers all over it,
as my mom told me
about this place called Mexico,
the state called Sinaloa,
and the beautiful creeks that she grew up in.
Then we also did something called Take a bus.
It was called the RTD bus.
It was in that RTD bus in LA
that we packed plastic sandwich bags.
My sister Cindy,
me,
Juanito,
my mom,
Cellia,
sometimes my dad Juan,
and we went to the place called the Ocean.
In this place called the Ocean,
they had names.
There were places called Hermosa Beach,
Hermosa Beach,
I should say it right.
There was a place called Manhattan Beach.
There was a place called Long Beach.
My sister,
me,
we would see these waves crash into the glare
as we smelled our coconut sunblock.
I remember this one day I found a boogie board in the city of Long Beach in the sand,
and I swam without knowing how to swim.
I rode a wave without knowing how to surf
with a billabong t-shirt that was missing letters.
I was both from Compton,
from Lynnwood,
from the hood,
and I was also alone
in a big crowd at sea.
So I remember
You know,
I used to go to this place called the Mayfair Pool.
It was maybe in Bellflower,
maybe it was a city called Lakewood.
I remember having one quarter,
Unaorra,
and we biked and biked and biked for
miles into the summer California nostalgia of youth,
and we would get on these things called diving boards,
and we would like jump off the diving boards
and we crash into the water,
but it wasn't about the water being 8 ft 6 ft 7 ft 5 ft,
it was about going home.
Right there at 8 ft is where we learned about community.
Right there at 8 ft is where we joked about
who was gonna splash water into each other's eyes.
Right there at 8 ft,
we wrote a journal.
It was a journal of friendship,
a journal of community,
and a journal of love and metaphor.
It was then without knowing um
that someday I would end up in these oceans
as I looked at the sunset,
you know,
I remember that we could not afford food at the
Long Beach Pier when my father was a cook.
We didn't have that kind of money,
but
I remember the middle and upper class people that would eat lobster
and it didn't matter because we had Walgreens sandwich bags.
That was enough.
We didn't need to eat lobster.
Um,
I also think about the power of that in creating my notion of the underground,
the outsider.
We were always near a pier.
We were parallel humans,
parallel lives
to the insider,
to the outsider.
Um,
but it was in this space,
the sea where we had joy,
where we examine and change ourselves in ways,
um,
that create a knowledge outside of professional norms.
We can get access there
to the sentence,
to emotion,
to any lesson that came our way.
We would make friends at the beach with the seashells.
We would walk into foggy beaches that had dogs
running around cause dogs were part of it too.
It was biodiverse.
It was sustainable,
right?
It was us running ahead of ourselves into who we
were thinking we were one day going to be.
But when I think about water,
I also think of abuelita.
I think about language.
I think about memory.
I think about loss.
I think about gain.
I think about the little cheeseburgers we ate when we shared it among many friends,
Manny,
Edgar,
Hector,
me.
But it was water,
the sunburned,
the bike ride back to the apartment complex in North Long Beach,
that bike ride mattered too,
you know,
we had stickers that we put on the bike and we had
these cans that we would put on the tires to make noise.
I still remember that,
right?
So we talked and talked and talked
and.
I'm gonna read a little bit of uh Pablo Neruda's poem
about the sea that maybe kind of wheelves in here too.
You know,
Pablo Neruda says,
I need the sea because it teaches me.
I said that,
right?
I don't know if I learned music or awareness,
if it's a single wave or a vast existence.
I only know that it has a harsh voice and it's shining.
It's a suggestion of fishes and ships.
The fact
is that I,
until I fall asleep in some magnetic way.
I move in the university of waves.
I'll paraphrase it not not read too much longer with that,
um,
so I know that I still have to wake up
and smell the polluted air of the city,
whatever city I live in.
I know that I still turn on the television news and that I
have to eat and work and supposedly work out to stay alive,
right?
Yet this is all part of the sea or the water's movement.
We are connected.
We are associated.
This is the classroom wall that opens up to the seaweed
that will sometimes ride up to the shore
and that sometimes I eat because my wife buys it at Costco,
right?
She taught me how to eat seaweed.
So,
home to me is like a compass,
you know,
home,
the sea,
the song was about water,
right?
The sea and the water for me provided some of the
sense of place that brought me in a sense of vulnerability
and awareness.
And maybe
I think the sea also provided for me a
lens into being a disillusioned person and a pessimist
at times because eventually the bus has to go home
and the rituals of evaluations,
to Jason's point.
Uh,
the rituals of pain and results are always down the street.
They're always there at your house and at your job down the block,
but the sea remains a reminder
that it is also near and it asks very little of me.
It does not,
the sea does not confine me to state standards.
It also says enough
from the view of the cliff.
I lean on a tree,
I can look down.
I can make decisions as I look at the past
and as I look at a little boat in the distance,
the boat gets closer and closer and so does the seagull.
This pendulum afar,
close are reminders of how art and education and the everyday
has this sense of movement.
It's never static.
Anything will eventually
have this little paper in my hand that served as a little ticket
to get on the bus.
It's movement,
right?
How am I doing on time?
OK.
Similarly,
um,
I remember many years ago taking a good friend to my mom's hometown in rural Mexico
and as our grandparents gathered to dance through the night,
we tried driving trucks up dirt hills
as horses raced.
And seemed to go nowhere in seconds.
I remember my friend told me that it was time to go back to the US.
I remember that day.
I remember that day because in his 1983 Toyota Celica we hit the open road
and in the state of Sonora,
he said,
I'm tired.
And when we got tired
I remember
um in that open road to Sonora
that we rented a unit for one night as we almost got bit by a German shepherd.
And I remember the owner was on the 2nd floor and she threw a key to us and said,
your room's over there.
As the dog was barking and barking and I was on I think on the,
what's that thing called the front of the car,
the hood.
I eventually made my way into the car
and I remember we said,
let's not go into the room yet.
We went into an abandoned resort.
I opened the gate.
He took his tripod and cameras out cause he said one day he's gonna work in Hollywood,
so he takes pictures of everything.
And
as I made it to the back and opened the gate.
Um,
As I made it to the gate,
there it is.
As I made it to the back,
I saw a private beach.
And I remember the secluded way in which the seals
joined us at these very low prices called free.
I remember the feeling of being at a port kinda like the song.
I remember how time stood still.
I remember
the anxiety I felt because of the adrenaline of the drive
and how I was supposed to always be doing quote unquote something,
but in fact it was here in the water
where doing something was happening on its own.
It was where joy got an electric.
Of credit,
it was where I saw my childhood in black and white photography.
It was where I imagined what it would mean to be still and yet always move
all the places I continue to go to and have moved to
the sea,
the cove,
similar places like that are like statue dedications
for you,
for me,
and for all those that walked
so that I could be there that day.
I guess I'm closing here almost.
Someone told me,
uh,
once
that
I moved to this place called the desert.
But that was Monday.
Maybe that was Tuesday,
maybe that was Wednesday,
and on some Saturdays I can still find sand.
I could still find creeks.
Some days I could still drive to the Pacific Ocean.
Some days I am reminded
that the desert too has water and growth.
I am reminded from the top of Papago Park that the planes,
the planes that I sense that I can almost grab as they depart
Sky Harbor
may be going to LA.
I am in that plane.
I am in that arrival and departure.
Together,
there's a sense of unresolved transience
that is home.
I like how the interior of the Saguaro
is filled with tissue that holds water.
In a 120 degree heat,
it has hidden water and stands and stands and stands.
It has intrinsic water systems that are here too.
A saguaro can hold over 1000 gallons of water.
Fighting against drought.
Water offers subversive aspects of continuity all around us.
In,
in the end for me,
uh,
when I think about home,
water and homes,
and,
um,
storytelling.
And the the idea of water has long provided a catharsis,
a set of memories,
a palette of memories for what could be in places that offer,
offer multiple meanings and messages and ongoing lessons.
And even as recently when I took my kids to Disneyland,
when I saw a gentleman in Laguna Beach struggling to get on
a rock to take a picture for his family in Iran,
you know,
I could still be close,
you know,
people or teachings still are reachable in this place called the sea.
In the unknowing aspects of mystery beyond what I could see at shore,
I'm always learning something.
So,
in,
in conclusion,
I'm open to the songs.
I am open to listen,
to move with it,
wonder,
learn,
and reflect
the more I get an opportunity to go home.
So,
thank you.
Can we do a last word of everybody on the panel of what
home is
to you?
Home to me is.
When I go home and visit my parents.
And spend a good
You know,
go to church
with them and
be able to drive them and
then go
break bread with them and see some of my old friends,
uh,
when I go back to Tucson.
I was at homecoming for the UFA although I graduated from ASU.
They dogged me on that.
I,
uh.
A couple of weeks ago and I got to see a lot of my friends and they was like,
man,
we used to do this,
that's home to me.
We used to do that
and then I'm a,
I'm the type of guy that I go by the old house.
I go by where I used to stay and I have memories and uh
home to me
and what really touched me
is Ms.
Lugo lived two doors down from me
and as I was going by my old house.
Her and uh Marty,
which is her son.
We're still in the neighborhood.
And before I got out of the car,
she said,
Anthony.
And she's 90-something years old,
so that's home to me.
OK.
Home is being able to go to Thanksgiving dinner with your parents.
I still got both my parents,
uh,
I get to go down there.
And that's home.
Um,
it's a great question.
I think immediately I thought of
my grandmother and I thought of her laughter,
and that I can close my eyes and I can hear it.
Um,
and then I started to recognize all everyone else's,
if I can close my eyes,
I can hear my mom,
I can hear my dad,
I can hear my theos that have passed,
I can hear my brothers,
and I think,
um,
yeah,
that's like the best place
to,
to have that feeling that feels like home to me,
is my grandma's lap.
And just to echo of that I think home
for me in the last
year or so,
just being able to practice the idea of mindfulness and being
a moment in,
in,
in the now.
And so wherever I feel free,
when I think about as a kid,
that freedom of
whether it's riding
bikes through the block or just
hanging out,
I think that's why Juan and I connected because we both were,
I was at Duke,
he was at UNC Chapel Hill,
but
our friendship started out because we would
talk crap about Lakers and the Knicks and
I don't want to say nothing about the Yankees and Dodgers because whatever,
whatever.
Whatever,
but you know,
we brought humanity to what was lacking,
I think in the academic spaces we were.
So
Juan a lot reminded me of my friends,
although we grew up on two different coasts
about just being free,
you know,
in,
in those moments.
I think wherever I feel free,
even,
even tonight,
I'm not
from this area,
this is my 3rd time visiting because of Juan,
but just being able to share my stories and bring
that to you feeling free in this moment just feels,
you know,
feels right,
feels good.
Yeah,
before I read my story,
I was like,
man,
I played basketball in my 40s and sitting in these
chairs remind me that I played basketball in my 40s.
I was like,
everything's hurting.
Hey,
Claudia,
you got that band.
What's that thing called?
That,
that green one.
I,
I'll go to you right now.
Maybe we go.
Um,
I,
I think.
What's it called?
It's posture.
I heard something about posture,
yeah,
that's right.
Um,
I think,
I think home for me is,
um,
I don't wanna hyper-intellectualize this cause it's actually in my book.
I'm not trying to sell nothing but
Uh,
oh man,
I,
I can't,
if you know me,
I,
I changed the topic,
uh,
barrio nerds,
Latino males schooling and the beautiful struggle struggle,
and you being here,
I know not to get academic because he's like,
oh,
he starts rolling his eyes.
But,
um,
in the book,
I basically say that home is not only a physical space,
but it's a,
it's a space of,
um,
uh,
oh,
is that,
uh.
Uh,
yeah,
that,
that's a sign.
I told her that that speaker reminds me of supermarkets
in Mexico when you're about to get some cookies,
they get a speaker going,
but
home to me,
according to the book,
is a,
a place that's uh not just a physical space,
but it's also an emotional place,
uh intellectual space,
a cultural place.
It's a place that provides me information
like a compass,
right?
So,
I don't necessarily have to be
in my hometown to be in my hometown.
Kinda like what I was getting at with the water metaphor.
So that's home.