7 minute read
Rooted in Service: Dr. José M. Amador
By Dr. Kimberly Selber
When you’ve lived in the Rio Grande Valley long enough, you know the voices and faces that shaped our community. For farmers and families across South Texas, one of those voices belonged to Dr. José M. Amador. Whether heard over a Monday morning radio show, seen walking the fields with a citrus grower, or recognized at a national conference in Washington, Dr. Amador spent more than four decades providing science and service to Valley agriculture.
From Cuba to the Valley
Dr. Amador’s journey began in central Cuba, where his father ran a small electric plant and garage. It wasn’t glamorous work, but it was steady, and it gave young José a model for resourcefulness and resilience. At the age of seven, he was sent to study in Havana with the De La Salle Christian Brothers. After a short time at the University of Havana, he transferred to Louisiana State University, where he earned his B.S. in agronomy in 1960, followed by a master’s in plant pathology and sugarcane research in 1962. By 1965, with a Ph.D. in hand and a minor in biochemistry, he was ready to take on the world. A pivotal nudge from federal extension leadership steered him toward South Texas. That same year, he became the Area Extension Plant Pathologist at the Texas A&M Agricultural Research and Extension Center in Weslaco—work that would define the next 41 years of his life.
Four Decades of Leadership
The Valley was facing challenges when Amador arrived. Citrus and cotton growers were battling nematode infestations that threatened entire harvests. Farmers needed solutions fast. Amador not only delivered the science but also taught growers how to apply it—walking fields, holding workshops, and translating complex plant pathology into practical steps that farmers could trust.
For 26 years, he traveled the region; if you draw a diagonal from Eagle Pass up toward San Antonio, slide east to Port Lavaca, and then drop south until your boots hit the Rio Grande, you’ve got Amador’s service area. And he covered it—fields, sheds, classrooms, county halls—helping growers, homeowners, applicators, and farmworkers learn to identify diseases and, more importantly, control them. Long before sustainability became a buzzword, Amador was developing programs to protect not just the plants, but also the people who worked with them.
In 1991, his leadership took on new dimensions when he was appointed Director of both the Weslaco Center and the Citrus Center at Texas A&M–Kingsville. It was a significant task: guiding research teams, managing budgets, and keeping the Valley’s agricultural priorities at the forefront. But he never stopped being the extension agent who would sit down with a farmer over a cup of coffee to discuss what was happening in the fields. His tenure also coincided with a rapid expansion of distance learning infrastructure that connected our region to graduate coursework and research networks across the A&M system. Under his leadership, the Weslaco center became one of the system’s most reliable technology transfer nodes, hosting hundreds of Texas A&M Telecommunication Network sessions in peak years to bridge research, classrooms, and extension audiences. That connectivity mattered: it kept Valley students in the pipeline and Valley questions in front of College Station labs.
And, while Texas A&M breeders were rolling out icons like the 1015 onion, TAM jalapeños, and Rio Red grapefruit, Dr. José Amador’s Weslaco extension team turned those breakthroughs into everyday practice—training Valley growers on disease control, nematodes, and pesticide safety, and keeping them a step ahead with Monday-morning updates.”
A Voice Beyond the Lab
If you lived in the Valley during the 1980s or ’90s, you probably heard Dr. Amador’s steady, reassuring voice on the radio. His Monday morning program—first with Charlie Rankin and later with Joe Hermosa—became a ritual for both growers and homeowners. He mixed practical advice with a deep sense of care, reminding listeners that science was there to serve them.
That connection with people is what made him unique. He wasn’t a scientist locked away in a lab; he was in the fields, on the airwaves, and always available to explain what mattered in plain language.
From Weslaco to Washington
Amador’s influence didn’t stop at the county line. In 2003, President Bill Clinton nominated him to serve as Assistant Secretary for Science and Education at the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Confirmed by the Senate Agriculture Committee, he was suddenly shaping national policy on sustainable farming, biotechnology, food safety, livestock, and international research collaborations.
Even in Washington, he carried the Valley with him. His perspective was always grounded in the growers and families he had served for decades. Science mattered, but only if it reached the people in the fields.
The Texas House later enrolled a resolution honoring Amador’s leadership at the Weslaco station and the Citrus Center—a rare on-the-record thank-you from Austin to a scientist whose work kept our region’s agricultural engine running.
The Teacher at Heart
For all his titles and awards, Dr. Amador always called himself a teacher. He mentored young scientists at the Weslaco and Citrus Centers, created countless training programs for pesticide applicators and farm workers, and even took a sabbatical to teach at EARTH University in Costa Rica.
Together with his wife, Silvia, he established a Student Travel Scholarship to enable graduate students to attend national and international conferences. Later, the American Phytopathological Society’s Caribbean Division created a scholarship in their names. For Amador, supporting students wasn’t just a nice gesture—it was essential.
“Silvia and I always believed education changes everything,” he once said. And he lived that truth.
Honors and Recognition
Awards followed, from associations that actually do the work: the Caribbean Division of the American Phytopathological Society and the Latin American Phytopathological Association recognized his contributions; industry groups like Texas Citrus Mutual and the Rio Grande Valley Sugar Growers added their thanks; and LSU’s College of Agriculture named him an Outstanding Alumnus, linking his Louisiana training to a Texas legacy. A Citrus Center newsletter from 2005 captured the local sentiment plainly as he approached retirement: the respect was broad and well-earned.
In 2005, after 41 years of service, he retired and was named Director Emeritus of the Texas AgriLife Research and Extension Center in Weslaco—a title he holds for life.
But perhaps his greatest honor came not from institutions, but from the Valley’s growers themselves, who often stopped him at the grocery store or in church to say, simply, “thank you.”
Why it mattered here
What Amador built—disease ID clinics, pesticide safety trainings, radio briefings, research-informed protocols—helped stabilize incomes, protect worker health, and keep families on their land. He had the range to speak with regulators one hour and stand knee-deep in a grove the next, translating needs in both directions. That’s rare. And it’s why, when you ask around, what people remember isn’t a title. It’s the call returned, the field visit, the clear explanation.
He also understood the responsibility that comes with proximity to a university system. Under his watch, Weslaco didn’t act like a distant outpost; it behaved like a hub, pulling in graduate courses, research collaborations, and student placements so that talent didn’t have to leave the Valley to get connected. The region benefited twice: our producers got faster access to solutions, and our students saw themselves in the work.
A Life of Service
Dr. Amador’s career is a model of what happens when science meets service. He bridged the gap between research and practice, Washington and Weslaco, classrooms and fields. He showed that agriculture is never just about plants or pests—it’s about people and families.
Even in retirement, he and Silvia continued to encourage students and nurture connections between institutions. His legacy lives on in the scholarships he funded, the research centers he led, the policies he helped shape, and, most importantly, in the community that continues to benefit from his work.
For Dr. Amador’s legacy, one lesson stands out: leadership doesn’t come from titles or accolades. It comes from showing up—season after season—with humility, warmth, and a belief that knowledge should be shared.
