Salazar: A Story of Love, Faith and the American Dream

By Miguel Salazar and Richard Hogue

God specializes in making remarkable ‘trophies of grace’ out of the lives of individuals who are often viewed as the most unlikely to succeed.

Bishop Tony Miller, The Gate Church, Oklahoma City

The story of Miguel and Elva Salazar begins in the abject poverty of the small Mexican town of Nava. Together, they work their way through the harsh, grueling labor in the cucumber fields and turkey processing plants of Colorado. It is the story of how this couple, through a remarkable series of events become committed Christians and are able to walk out of the misery of the poverty into which they were both born, and build personal, family and financial success that has surpassed their greatest dreams.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9781973675723

Miguel Salazar

Miguel Salazar is a man who came from abject poverty and has built a major company helping thousands of families recover following the damage from thunderstorms and hurricanes. His story is challenging and inspirational.

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The Introduction

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The story of Miguel and Elva Salazar begins in the abject poverty of the small Mexican town of Nava and winds its way through a series of remarkable events that ultimately lead to great success. Miguel was the fourth child of ten siblings who grew up sleeping on dirt floors under the grass roof of their small house and awoke with spider bites most mornings. There was little money, little food and no opportunity to continue in school beyond the sixth grade, but there was great love and affirmation.

Miguel’s parents, Arturo and Maria Pura Salazar, poured their lives into their children. Maria Pura was the rock and motivator of Miguel’s early life. She was always there, always loving and always caring. In order to provide as much money as he could for his precious wife and ten children, Arturo crossed the Rio Grande to work for ten months each year. The two months Miguel’s Papa was home was the high point of the year. During those two months, Miguel saw the great love his parents had for one another that prepared him to one day truly love his wife.

Miguel was an extremely intelligent child who excelled in math. His great desire was to finish high school, but because of the poverty of his family, he was forced to leave school and go to work. Miguel was no stranger to hard work. When he entered the fifth grade, Miguel left home to go to work in Piedras Negras, Mexico. Since that time, there has never been a day that he did not have a job.

He returned to Nava, following the sixth grade. One morning in what was an almost miraculous occurrence, Miguel saw the young girl who would become the single love of his life. Elva Garcia walked by and forever changed his life.

Elva was a young Mexican-American girl who was born and reared in a family of ten in the Texas border town of Eagle Pass. From the moment he saw her and ultimately found her, Miguel and Elva were a couple. What they experienced meeting one another, falling in love and building their life is a remarkable story. The details are amazing.

They begin with nothing but love. Then they worked their way through the harsh, laborious work in the cucumber fields and turkey processing plants of Colorado while Elva was pregnant and gave birth to their first child, a beautiful daughter named Brandy. From there they traveled to San Antonio where Miguel first worked as part of a roofing crew.

San Antonio was very good to them. It was there they bought their first home, had their two sons, Michael and Eric, and experienced their first taste of financial security. San Antonio was also where they almost lost their marriage because of alcohol, and ultimately made the greatest decision of their life by both of them becoming Christians. Then their life took another important turn. They moved to Oklahoma City where they formed Salazar Roofing and Construction.

Ultimately, the life of Miguel and Elva Salazar is the story of two very young people who meet, fall deeply in love and become committed Christians. It is the story of how this couple, through a remarkable series of events, was able to walk out of the misery of the poverty into which they were both born, and build personal, family and financial success that has surpassed their greatest dreams.

The Greatest Day of the Year

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I knew he was leaving. It was an annual event each January and one that set into place the structure of our family and rhythm of the new year. I was old enough this year to understand what was happening and could feel the anxiety and tension. Signs of preparation were throughout our small house. The old duffle bag in which he brought gifts when he arrived home two months earlier laid on the bed as my father, or as we called him in Spanish, Papa, finished placing in it the few items he would take. Tears filled my mother’s, or Madre’s, eyes as she hurriedly packed the small lunch for his journey. I joined my brothers and sisters as we stood transfixed on him, wanting to see him and be with him for as long as possible.

Our Papa came home the first of November every year. Each of us counted the months through winter, the long hot Mexican summer, and then the fall. When school started each year, it was only a few weeks until he would return, and then November came. Madre constantly kept the excitement of his return in front of us. She shared each letter she received from him. When she finished reading the parts which were for us, she would say,

Your Papa will be home in six months… in four months… in two months.

Then we began the countdown. It was weeks away, then days away, and finally, it was time for the bus from Piedras Negras carrying our Papa home to 214 Guerrero Street in Nava Coahuila, Mexico. The walk from the bus station was not far. We all stood in front of our house, gazing down the street, knowing that at any moment he would turn the corner and we would see him walking toward us. When he was close enough, Madre would give her permission, and we all ran to greet him, each one wanting to be closer to him than the other. There we all stood in the middle of our street,mobbing him with hug after hug. Our Papa was home!

Each time he returned he seemed stronger than I remembered. Sometimes when he first got back, I just stood and watched him. With five brothers and four sisters, it was easy to get lost in the crowd as I stared at him. He was a muscular 5’ 7"and could easily pick us up and lift us high into the air.

Your Papa is so glad to see you, he would say. You have gotten so big!

I was the fourth oldest child and had to wait, but finally it was my turn. As I looked squarely into his smiling face with his big brown eyes, for just a moment I had his full undivided attention. Perhaps it is because I was so glad to see him each year that I remember him as the happiest man in the world.

His First Night Home

The first night he arrived home was the greatest night of the year. Madre insured everything was in place. The house was filled with the aroma of perfectly cooked Mexican tamales, prepared just the way he liked them. For some families it might not have seemed special, but for us it was a feast! For hours we sat around the small room that first night, listening to my Papa’s stories of his months in America. It was as though he was a great explorer arriving back home.

My Papa’s work on the ranch in Texas was demanding and difficult, but he loved America. We were mesmerized as he told us of the towns he saw, the people he met, the way they lived, the size of their homes, the prices of things in the stores, the various pieces of equipment he drove, and even some of the strange things he ate.

He had real respect for the rancher who gave him his job and for the foreman, Chino, who was his boss. Since he was the only full-time worker on the ranch, he was involved in everything that took place. He spoke of the ranch as though it were his own. Occasionally seasonal workers were brought in to help, but my Papa was at the center of the activity of the ranch. If some piece of equipment broke, he fixed it. If some task needed completing, he did it. He was always excited about the cattle. When he spoke about a particular cow, he called her by name. If one of his cows got into trouble, it was his responsibility to rescue her and usually her calf. When it was time to plant the crops, he was involved. When it was time to harvest, he was there. He went on and on about the size of the harvest and how successful his work had been that year.

After his annual report of his work in America, he always turned to my Madre and said,

Well, tell me about all that has been going on here at home.

She was prepared. Madre had saved incidents about each of us to share with him. He seemed starved for information about us and wanted to know every detail. As Madre recalled what we had done, we all laughed and joined in, giving our own version of events. Papa loved it. It was great.

Then came the gifts. All the time he was gone, our Papa set aside money from his meager salary to bring a special gift home to each of his kids. One year he brought me a pair of white pants. I loved those pants! Of course, he was our greatest gift. The arrival celebration continued until we were all worn out and agreed it was time to sleep.

I remember being unable to sleep out of the sheer excitement of his being home. I don’t know exactly how to describe it, but there was an overwhelming feeling of satisfaction in our house when he was home. It was not a feeling of safety. I always felt safe; but it was a feeling of peace, a feeling that everything was right. As I lay on my usual pallet on the floor, I was keenly aware that my Papa was there in the house, sleeping with my mother, and all my brothers and sisters were there. We were family. Papa was home, and that made us complete.

Each day he was home with us was good! He was there for us, each of us, especially mother. She was always precious, but different when he was away. She never left. Madre was constantly there watching over us, working hard to make life as good as possible for each of us. She was a remarkable woman. She gave birth to ten children over a twenty-six-year period, spent years pregnant, nursing, simultaneously caring for multiple infants, rearing teen-agers while having babies with very little resources and a husband away ten months out of each year. Each of her children loved her, felt loved by her and important to her.

When our Papa was gone, it was easy to see and understand the load she carried as she mothered us. She was a poor woman, the wife of a migrant worker, who reared ten children without the physical presence and support of her husband and their father. The price she paid in his absence was significant. She was the one who had to say no when a hungry child was asking for more food – no to a new pair of shoes – no for an extra dime to buy something to eat at school. There was little time to rest. No time for leisure. Just the ordeal of preparing food for all of us with little or no money was emotionally and physically draining. Her role was exhausting and daunting and her tasks took an ever-increasing toll on her life. When our Papa was home, she still worked hard and cared for her family, but it was different. He brought joy and love to her and lifted a load from her. We could all see it.

Our time with Papa was not really planned when he was home. There were no special trips, no long family vacations. It was simply life with him, doing what he did, being with him, watching him, listening to him. I enjoyed every moment.

My Papa was a hunter and a fisherman. I will never forget the first time he took us with him on a hunt for quail. My brother and I were playing with some friends when we saw him working on something in the back of our house. We ran as fast as we could to find out what he was doing and found him surrounded by chicken wire and burlap sacks.

What are you doing Papa? we asked, trying to catch our breath.

Boys, I’m making quail traps. This is something you should learn to do, he said as he picked up another piece of chicken wire.

He took the wire and slowly molded it into a long tube with an opening at one end. I asked him how it worked, How do you get the quail in it?

Watch, he said, picking up the chicken wire tube. We place the trap among the bushes where the quail live. Then we put some food in the trap. Once we find the quail, we coax them over to the trap by dropping food for them to follow to the trap. When they enter the trap, we close it, so they cannot escape, and we’ve got them! By the way, he asked with a sly grin, Do you boys want to go quail hunting with me?

Yes, we responded, absolutely!

It was intriguing to see him hunt. Once he placed the traps in the bushes, he made some sort of clicking sound with his voice. As he made his sound, the three of us walked through the brush, hoping to flush out the quail. I was amazed at how many quail we found and how easily Papa coaxed them from their hiding places.

Stay back, not to fast, he instructed softly, don’t scare them away.

Once we spotted the quail, he literally herded them toward the traps by his clicking sound and small pieces of food. By the end of the day he had trapped over 30 quail. He only brought a few of them home for us to eat and sold most of them to provide money for us. The most wonderful part of the day was being with him, listening to him and learning from him. Things were always better when he was home.

While we were hunting for quail, Papa kept his eyes open for another delicacy. White desert rats lived among the cacti in the bushes. Papa was great at catching them. He got up around 3:00 am and set the small wooden traps he made out in the fields. Then he returned later that morning to see if he had been successful. If he had, he immediately killed the rats and skinned them before bringing them home to be grilled. It sounds terrible, but they were really great to eat!

Celebration of Christmas

Our Papa was always home for Christmas, and in Mexico, Christmas is a major event. The fact that he was there to enjoy it with us made it even more wonderful. It was one of the major highlights of our annual time with him. I vividly remember the joy of the celebrations throughout our town. During my childhood, Mexican families celebrated Christmas from December 12th to January 6th. At the heart of the celebration was the Posadas, which began on December 16th and lasted for nine days through Christmas Eve. All of us participated in the nightly Posadas celebrations.

The Posadas is a 400-year-old tradition in Mexico, which reenacts the journey of Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem in search for a safe refuge where Mary could give birth to the Lord Jesus. In the Bible story, the couple were not able to find a room in any of the inns, but finally an innkeeper offered his stable where the Baby Jesus was eventually born.

Las Posadas participants reenact this event in processions through the streets of our town as they carry candles and sing Christmas songs. Families, friends and entire neighborhoods conduct Posadas. Most of the families knew our Papa and were thrilled that he was home with all of us. I think they could see a special glow of happiness around us. I wanted to shout out during the parade,

El Papa is home; El Papa is home!

The Posadas processions were led by a group of children dressed as angels, who are followed by a young Joseph leading Mary on a donkey. Behind them were scores of families and folks of all ages, walking in the procession and enjoying being together. Many families along the route decorated the entrances of their homes with farolitos to light the way.

During the nightly procession, the children approached two houses, looking for shelter, but were rejected. After visiting the two homes and being turned away, the procession reached the home designated for that night where the participants split into two groups. One remained outside, asking for shelter while the other went inside and played the role of the innkeeper. A reciprocal song was sung back and forth until those outside were eventually allowed to enter the house. Everyone circled the nativity at the home, praying the Rosary and singing Christmas songs and hymns. For some reason I did not fully understand, being there with my brothers and sisters and singing Christmas songs with all of our friends and neighbors was always very exciting to me.

Once the Christmas songs ended, the celebration of neighbors and friends began. It was complete with various foods like tamales, atole, buñuelos, and for the adults ponche con piquete, a punch made out of fruits, cinnamon sticks and perhaps a little alcohol. Of course, there was always a piñata!

This process continued nightly until Christmas Eve. On that very special night, families from across the city came to the Saint Andrew Catholic Church, where children led a procession and placed a figure of the Christ Child in the nativity scene. Following midnight