I liked being at school, and I got involved in school activities whenever I could. I joined the Squires Club, and our main duties were to keep order in the lunch line and stop students from littering. I missed the initiation dinner, which was held on a Thursday evening, because I had to work.
I also became a member of the Spanish Club. In late fall of my junior year, my study hall teacher announced that a meeting was being held after school for students interested in joining the club. I decided to attend and learn more about it. Instead of going straight to the public library to do my math homework as I usually did, I went to the meeting, which was held in one of the classrooms in the old part of the school, next to the tennis courts. Few students were there. Mr. Osterveen, one of the Spanish teachers, ran the meeting. He was a short, stocky man with a large head and receding hairline. He had a long chin and a thin, black mustache, just like Papá’s. As he talked about Mexico, his small, dark eyes lit up like a cat’s when it saw a mouse. He said he was from New York but had lived and studied in Mexico City, where he met his wife, who was from Oaxaca. I had heard of Mexico City but not of Oaxaca and I wondered if those places were like El Rancho Blanco or Guadalajara. He rested his right foot on one of the desks in the front row, and each time he got excited, he pushed up, making himself look taller. I felt right at home when he spoke Spanish. I signed up to be a member right there and then. Mr. Osterveen suggested a second meeting to elect officers and to come up with a new name for the club. We all agreed to meet again a few weeks later.
When I got home that evening after work I told my family about the club and Mr. Osterveen. “And he’s a teacher?” Papá asked. I was surprised to see him so interested. He usually never asked anything about school.
“Yes, he speaks Spanish just like us,” I said enthusiastically.
“Is he from Jalisco?”
“No, but he lived in Mexico for many years.”
Papá smiled and nodded his head. I then asked my family to help me think of names for the club.
“How about ‘The Little Stinkers’?” Trampita said, chuckling. Roberto gave Trampita a slight punch on the shoulder and laughed.
“You’re the stinker,” he said. “That’s why we call you Trampita.”
“Come on, get serious,” I said. “How about ‘The Spanish Club Saints’?”
“Los Santitos,” Mamá uttered, “Los Santitos, like all our children.”
“Santitos!” Papá exclaimed. “How about Los Diablitos. . .”
“I like Los Santitos,” I said. “It fits with the Santa Maria Saints.”
At the next meeting of the Spanish Club I proposed the name Los Santitos. Everyone voted in favor of it. We then elected officers. I was elected president, Abie Gonzales, vice president, Charlotte Woodward, secretary, and Marjorie Ito, coordinator of social events. Our first order of business was to think of an activity for the club. Marjorie suggested having a Thanksgiving fiesta. I liked the idea of celebrating Thanksgiving. It was my favorite holiday because when we picked cotton in Corcoran I started school around that time every year. We all went along with her idea, except Mr. Osterveen. He reminded us that Thanksgiving was only a few days away. “You don’t have time to organize a party around Thanksgiving,” he said, “but you could for Christmas.”
I thought about Christmas and felt sad, recalling living in tent labor camps in Corcoran during that holiday and seeing families struggling to make ends meet.
“What do you think?” Abie said, poking me in the back.
“About Christmas? Well . . .” I hesitated. I then remembered the Christmas when Papá gave Mamá an embroidered handkerchief he had bought from a young couple who needed money to buy food. “What about collecting food for poor families?” I finally said.
“A Christmas food drive. That’s a great idea!” Mr. Osterveen said. Abie and Majorie agreed. “I’ll ask teachers to announce it in study hall. Students can drop off food cans in the cafeteria and we’ll have the Salvation Army deliver it to needy families,” Mr. Osterveen added.
We left the meeting and agreed to meet once again before the Christmas break to make sure everything was in order. Every day the number of food bags increased, and by the end of the second week in December we had collected forty-one bags. On the last day of school before Christmas break, Captain Tracy from the Salvation Army came to collect the food. He thanked Los Santitos and gave us a certificate of appreciation for “rendering eminent and memorable service to the Santa Maria community by helping the Salvation Army to give a happy Christmas.”
That evening after I finished cleaning the gas company I waited for Roberto to pick me up. I was excited because he was bringing home a Christmas tree. Ever since Roberto started working at Main Street Elementary School, Mr. Sims told him that he could take the school Christmas tree home on the day the school closed for the holidays. I sat down in the main office of the gas company and admired the large, cheerful Santa Claus painted on the front window and the tall Christmas tree in the middle of the office, with its tiny white lights blinking off and on like stars in the heavens. I saw my brother drive up. I quickly locked the office and rushed to the parking lot to see the tree. It was in the back seat of the car, strewn with tinsel. “It’s a beautiful tree,” Roberto said. “Wait till you see it standing up.” When we got home Trampita, Rorra, Torito, and Rubén dashed out of the house to see it.
“This is a very special Christmas, mijo,” Mamá said excitedly, clasping her hands. “This afternoon the Salvation Army brought us a huge box full of groceries. God is truly watching over us.”