Salazar: A Story of Love, Faith & 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.

- The late 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

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: Aug 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685560492

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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Salazar

A Story of Love, Faith,

and the American Dream

Miguel Salazar

with Richard Hogue

Trilogy Christian Publishers

TUSTIN, CA

Trilogy Christian Publishers

A Wholly Owned Subsidiary of Trinity Broadcasting Network

2442 Michelle Drive

Tustin, CA 92780

Salazar

Copyright © 2021 by Miguel Salazar and Richard Hogue

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without written permission from the author. All rights reserved. Printed in the USA.

Rights Department, 2442 Michelle Drive, Tustin, CA 92780.

Trilogy Christian Publishing/TBN and colophon are trademarks of Trinity Broadcasting Network.

Cover design by Jeff Summers

For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Trilogy Christian Publishing.

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

ISBN: 978-1-68556-048-5

E-ISBN: 978-1-68556-049-2

Dedication

This book is lovingly dedicated to my parents, Arturo and Maria Pura Salazar. There have been many individuals who have played major, significant roles in my life, but I will always be grateful to Papa and Madre for the solid foundation of love and acceptance they gave me. They prepared me for every good and successful thing I have accomplished.

Contents

Dedication iii

Introduction vii

Chapter 1. The Greatest Day of the Year 1

Chapter 2. Growing Up Fast 14

Chapter 3. My First Taste of the United States 30

Chapter 4. WOW, Who Was That? 45

Chapter 5. Finding Elva Garcia 63

Chapter 6. Courting Elva Garcia 76

Chapter 7. Morning Sickness and Harvest in

Colorado 87

Chapter 8. Our Baby in Colorado 100

Chapter 9. Waiting for Our Baby 112

Chapter 10. I Am a Father 127

Chapter 11. Life Began in San Antonio 144

Chapter 12. Finding Home 161

Chapter 13. Elva Met Jesus 174

Chapter 14. The Lines Were Drawn 189

Chapter 15. The Chance to Change 200

Chapter 16. The Decision to Stay 213

Chapter 17. Making Oklahoma Home 226

Chapter 18. Building My Own Company 238

Chapter 19. Living the Dream 252

Introduction

Salazar is a great love story. Two young teenagers meet by a near-miraculous occurrence, fall deeply in love, and begin a life filled with a series of challenges that brings them out of the poverty into which they were born into remarkable success.

Miguel was the fourth child of ten siblings who grew up in Nava, Mexico, sleeping on dirt floors under the grass roof of their tiny house and awoke with spider bites most mornings. There was little money, scarce food, and no opportunity to continue in school beyond the sixth grade, but there was genuine 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 as he could for his precious wife and ten children, Arturo crossed the Rio Grande to work for ten months each year as a farm laborer. The two months Miguel’s papa was home were the high point of the year. During those two months, Miguel saw the 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, but because of the poverty of his family was not allowed to attend school beyond the sixth grade. At age twelve, he went to work in his first job. Miguel left Nava, the security of his family and friends, to work for two years in Piedras Negras, Mexico. Since then, there has never been a time that he did not have a job.

Following his years away from home in Piedras Negras, he returned to Nava and, in an unimaginable event, saw the girl who would become the single love of his life. Elva Garcia walked by his house and forever changed everything. Elva was a young Mexican-American girl, born and reared in a family of ten in the Texas border town of Eagle Pass. From the moment Miguel 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 the remarkable story of Salazar. The details are amazing.

They begin with nothing but love. Then they worked their way through the harsh labor of migrant workers in the cucumber fields and turkey processing plants of Colorado while Elva was pregnant with their first child. From there, they followed an opportunity to San Antonio, where Miguel discovered what would be the foundation of his success.

San Antonio was very good to them. It was there they bought their first home, had their two sons, 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 lives by both becoming Christians. From that point, their life took another critically important turn when they moved to Oklahoma City and ultimately formed Salazar Roofing and Construction.

Salazar is the story of how this couple, who, 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, financial and spiritual success that has surpassed their greatest dreams.

Chapter 1

The Greatest Day of the Year

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 teenagers 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 was 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 too 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 thirty 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 a.m. 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 of a safe refuge where Mary could give birth to the Lord Jesus. In the Bible story, the couple was not able to find a room in any of the inns, but finally, an