Finding Shelter in Juárez

by Morgan Smith ’56

DRIVING THROUGH ASPEN LAST JUNE EN ROUTE TO MY GRANDDAUGHTER’S HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION, I FELT A SEARING, ALMOST PHYSICAL PAIN AS I CAME TO THE CORNER OF 2ND AND FRANCES STREETS, AND THE FORMER HOME OF MY IN-LAWS.

Although I grew up on the North Star Ranch (now the North Star Nature Preserve), it was this house—the Red House, as we called it—where my relationship began with Julie, their daughter. Although we never lived in Aspen, she took care of the house from the time of our marriage in 1965 to its sale many years later. Our family spent many weekends and summer vacations there with our two sons and daughter. For us, our time at that house was unforgettable.

Julie died suddenly on April 3, 2016. The one bright aspect of this devastating loss happens to be another house, far south of Aspen in Juárez, Mexico. Donations made in her memory went to a nonprofit organization in El Paso, Texas—Siguiendo los Pasos de Jesús, which means Following the Footsteps of Jesus—and funded the construction of a home for a local family Julie and I had befriended and helped for almost six years. The result is a success story, which hasn’t always been the case with the humanitarian projects I get involved in. The story began in February 2011 when I made my first visit to Vision in Action, a mental health asylum on the edge of Ciudad Juárez, the sprawling border city just south of El Paso. Dozens of adult patients milled around me, but what surprised me most were the two young kids in their midst. Why were these young people in a mental asylum?

Later I learned they were Hector and Yeira, the grandchildren of Elvira Romero, the asylum’s cook. She brought them to work with her every weekend because staying alone in their home would have been too dangerous. I could not imagine my grandchildren in such a situation. What made it feel even more personal was that Yeira is two weeks younger than my granddaughter, the one who recently graduated, yet their lives are so different.

Elvira is technically their grandmother but in effect, she is really both their mother and father. Their father lives in Juárez and has money but provides no help. Their mother lives hundreds of miles east in another border town, Sonoyta. She is a drug addict and probably a prostitute.

Hector and Yeira have always had to struggle to survive. They would find scrap metal and haul it up to the Chihuahua-Juárez Highway to sell. To warm their house, they would dig chunks of plywood out of the sand, bring them home in the old baby carriage, pound them on the floor to knock off the sand and burn them. Sometimes there wasn’t food.

I began visiting the asylum at least once a month. Rather than just give money, I would pay Hector and Yeira to undertake various projects: writing essays about their family histories and their hopes for the future, or assisting with my interviews of patients. Once when I was not there, Yeira interviewed a patient who was a sicario, or assassin, who had murdered at least 15 people. I was horrified when I found out, but she told me, “I wasn’t afraid. He was the one who was crying.”

The family’s second shack

In August 2014, Yeira had her quinceañera, a traditional celebration of a girl’s 15th birthday that marks her transition from childhood to adulthood. It was a night of happiness for the whole family. Vision in Action founder Pastor Galván and I served as the padrinos, or sponsors. But instead of this occasion being a leap forward, everything continued to decline for the family. Elvira lost her job, and her health problems—diabetes, high blood pressure and poor vision—worsened. Due to a lack of money, Yiera and Hector had to drop out of high school and take jobs in a maquiladora, an assembly plant where they only made about $50 a week.

At last, Elvira managed to make a down payment on a small piece of land in the desert nearby. They built a shack for temporary shelter in the hope that one of the U.S.

In the new house, left to right, Elvira, Yeira, cousin Amy and Hector

nonprofits working in the area would help them build a house. Unfortunately, all the home-building programs had long waiting lists and required applicants to find sponsors to help with the costs. After strong winds destroyed their shack, the family rebuilt another miserable hovel.

“Morgan, it snowed during the night, and when we woke up in the morning, our hair was covered with snow,” Elvira told me during the winter of 2015. This was their life in the shack. But at the time, I didn’t have the money or the sponsors to do anything about it.

That spring, in the weeks following Julie’s death, friends and family made an outpouring of donations to SPJ in her memory. Very quickly, we had enough funds to build a house.

THEY BUILT A SHACK FOR TEMPORARY SHELTER IN THE HOPE THAT ONE OF THE U.S. NONPROFITS WORKING IN THE AREA WOULD HELP THEM BUILD A HOUSE.

THIS HOUSE IS MORE THAN JUST A STRUCTURE... IT REPRESENTS A LONGAWAITED LEAP FORWARD FOR THIS STOIC AND ENDURING MEXICAN FAMILY.

Fountain Valley School of Colorado The Siguiendo los Pasos de Jesús workers building the house

Under the leadership of founder and executive director Jane Fuller, SPJ provides much more than just houses. The organization hosts a clinic that’s staffed once a month by medical volunteers from El Paso. SPJ also offers a library, education resources, a park where kids can play, food assistance, and a market where local people can sell their goods.

In the case of Elvira’s family, this means medical attention for Elvira’s vision problem that will allow her to go back to work. For Hector and Yeira, it means finding better jobs and attending schooling on Saturdays, so they can earn high school degrees. The modest 600-square-foot, cinder-block house was completed in October 2016. “Estamos en la Gloria,” Elvira often tells me. “We are in heaven.” I agree. This house is more than just a structure, or as I think of it, a beautiful living memorial. It represents a long-awaited leap forward for this stoic and enduring Mexican family. For the first time, I see real potential for these two young people to reach for the dreams they described in those essays they wrote years ago. More than simply surviving, they now have the foundation they need to build better, more fulfilling lives.

Morgan Smith ’56 lives in Santa Fe and travels to the border every month to assist various humanitarian programs. He can be reached at morgan-smith@comcast.net.

WHY I WORK IN JUÁREZ AND ALONG THE BORDER

I was 19 when I made my first trip to Mexico. I hitchhiked from my home in Colorado all the way to Mexico, then back via Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Oklahoma and Kansas. Years later, my wife, Julie, and I took our kids on numerous mountain climbing adventures exploring Mexico’s volcanoes. When I served as director of Colorado’s International Trade Office in the ’90s, I made regular trade missions on the state’s behalf. After my retirement, I was drawn south again, covering two Mexican presidential elections as a freelance writer.

The trip that catalyzed my volunteer work, however, was one to the border town of Palomas, just south of Columbus, New Mexico. It was May 2010, the height of Mexico’s drug war violence that resulted in nearly 24,000 murders in 2010 and 2011 alone. On a visit to an orphanage called La Casa de Amor para Niños, I interviewed Martina Ontiveros, a local woman who worked caring for the children. When I asked if she was afraid, she answered simply, “This is my mission.” It hit me hard: If Martina could live and work here without succumbing to fear, I had no right to be afraid during my short visits.

On subsequent trips to Juárez, I encountered this attitude again and again. So many people I met regarded their work as their mission, so reacting with fear wasn’t an option.

In time, I realized I was also fortunate enough to be seeing the other face of the border, the region Mexicans call La Frontera. While it’s the violence that makes the news, there are many extraordinary people there who are helping the needy, often at substantial personal risk. I felt it was important to write about these heroic individuals and to support their work.

For more than six years, I have traveled to towns along the border at least once a month. The trips are grueling and often emotionally draining, but I do think I am providing some help. More important, I deeply enjoy spending time with the people I’ve met and continue to meet. There is a sense of caring, sacrifice, endurance and even humor here. For me, the experience is very inspiring.

As I write this, I am getting organized for another trip. That means gathering used clothing and shoes from neighbors and friends, buying food and candy to give to families, and printing photos from my last trip because they are treasured, particularly by the mentally ill patients.

On this trip, I will also help design a special memorial for Julie. We all want to have a shrine in Julie’s memory in the house; Hector, the grandson, says that she is in his heart.

These trips never get repetitious. People get sick or get well; they die or sometimes just disappear. Kids suddenly seem grown up. Some of them find the inner strength to develop a decent life. In other words, this place and its people are now in my heart. So I will return, again and again.