Note: This essay is the third installment in a series entitled, "American Lives," which spotlights great Americans, famous and anonymous, who have lived exemplary American Lives.
This particular piece is something of a departure, in that it spotlights a young person who is in the very earliest stages of living an exemplary American life. Nevertheless, his already compelling story is instructive.
Jonathan Treviño is eight years old and lives in a “colonia” in Peñitas, Texas, approximately eight miles north of the United States-Mexico border. Thanks to the vision of John Shary, a developer from Omaha, and a 320-day growing season, the Rio Grande Valley is one of the largest citrus producers in the world. But the Valley is not a lush garden spot. The climate is dry, averaging twenty-three inches of annual rainfall, and the days are hot and dusty. This area is also one of the poorest in the nation, with a per capita income of $9,899, according to the Census Bureau.
Jonathan lives on a crudely paved street off a farm road that connects via another road to the state highway north, which connects to an interstate highway that traverses the heartland of America. He lives in an unfinished home with his parents and his two brothers (ages ten and sixteen) and his two sisters (ages three and thirteen). The children all attend public school, where they have won many ribbons and other honors for their academic achievements, which they proudly display on their bedroom walls. The family has several bookcases filled with Bibles, other religious literature, textbooks, children’s stories, and American history, including the Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. Most of these volumes are in English.
For Jonathan, summer days are spent playing with cousins and friends and his brother, Sebastian. Their oldest brother, Orlando, works in the fields with his dad during the break from school. Jonathan and Sebastian play football (American) and catch “horny toads” and geckos and do their best to stay clear of red ants, scorpions, and rattlers.
This particular piece is something of a departure, in that it spotlights a young person who is in the very earliest stages of living an exemplary American life. Nevertheless, his already compelling story is instructive.
Jonathan Treviño is eight years old and lives in a “colonia” in Peñitas, Texas, approximately eight miles north of the United States-Mexico border. Thanks to the vision of John Shary, a developer from Omaha, and a 320-day growing season, the Rio Grande Valley is one of the largest citrus producers in the world. But the Valley is not a lush garden spot. The climate is dry, averaging twenty-three inches of annual rainfall, and the days are hot and dusty. This area is also one of the poorest in the nation, with a per capita income of $9,899, according to the Census Bureau.
Jonathan lives on a crudely paved street off a farm road that connects via another road to the state highway north, which connects to an interstate highway that traverses the heartland of America. He lives in an unfinished home with his parents and his two brothers (ages ten and sixteen) and his two sisters (ages three and thirteen). The children all attend public school, where they have won many ribbons and other honors for their academic achievements, which they proudly display on their bedroom walls. The family has several bookcases filled with Bibles, other religious literature, textbooks, children’s stories, and American history, including the Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin. Most of these volumes are in English.
For Jonathan, summer days are spent playing with cousins and friends and his brother, Sebastian. Their oldest brother, Orlando, works in the fields with his dad during the break from school. Jonathan and Sebastian play football (American) and catch “horny toads” and geckos and do their best to stay clear of red ants, scorpions, and rattlers.
09/06: Alvin Sams: An American Life
Category: American Lives
Posted by: A Waco Farmer
Note: This essay is the second installment in a series entitled, "American Lives," which spotlights great Americans, famous and anonymous, who have lived exemplary American Lives.
These notes on the passing of a friend were penned a few years ago. Alvin was not a public official, but he embodied service to his community.
“Alvin Sams, 63, died at his home in Lorena on Monday,” read Tuesday’s newspaper. “Services pending at Wilkirson-Hatch-Bailey.” Although I had received the news for the first time via the telephone the evening before (and cried), the stark reality of the newsprint jarred me again. The death of Alvin Sams was a shock. True, Alvin was relatively young—but it was much more than just his age that defied acceptance. He was vigorous. He was full of life. He was Alvin. Of course, death comes to us all at some point. For those of us with a connection to the funeral business, our experience confirms an immutable truth: the circumstances and timing of our demise are as unpredictable as the ultimate outcome is certain. Nevertheless, the loss of Alvin found all of us who knew him unprepared. We assumed (oblivious to the laws of nature) that Alvin would go on forever.
Alvin was a Waco institution. He had a generosity of spirit that came through in every conversation, and people naturally responded to him. Sometimes it seemed as if he knew everyone in town. His roots and worldview were working class. Raised on Bell’s Hill in South Waco, Alvin graduated from University High. Alvin threw the local paper as a youth, worked at a gas station on the Circle as a young man and drove an ambulance during the mid-1960s. He went to work for Wilkirson-Hatch Funeral Home in 1969, and he never left. Over the next thirty-three years, Alvin personified consummate professionalism, but he never lost his common touch. While quite comfortable with (and beloved by) bankers and executives, he reflexively comprehended truck drivers and mechanics. The diversity of mourners, the enormous turnout, and the outpouring of emotion at his own service matched his ample and authentic love for his community.
These notes on the passing of a friend were penned a few years ago. Alvin was not a public official, but he embodied service to his community.
“Alvin Sams, 63, died at his home in Lorena on Monday,” read Tuesday’s newspaper. “Services pending at Wilkirson-Hatch-Bailey.” Although I had received the news for the first time via the telephone the evening before (and cried), the stark reality of the newsprint jarred me again. The death of Alvin Sams was a shock. True, Alvin was relatively young—but it was much more than just his age that defied acceptance. He was vigorous. He was full of life. He was Alvin. Of course, death comes to us all at some point. For those of us with a connection to the funeral business, our experience confirms an immutable truth: the circumstances and timing of our demise are as unpredictable as the ultimate outcome is certain. Nevertheless, the loss of Alvin found all of us who knew him unprepared. We assumed (oblivious to the laws of nature) that Alvin would go on forever.
Alvin was a Waco institution. He had a generosity of spirit that came through in every conversation, and people naturally responded to him. Sometimes it seemed as if he knew everyone in town. His roots and worldview were working class. Raised on Bell’s Hill in South Waco, Alvin graduated from University High. Alvin threw the local paper as a youth, worked at a gas station on the Circle as a young man and drove an ambulance during the mid-1960s. He went to work for Wilkirson-Hatch Funeral Home in 1969, and he never left. Over the next thirty-three years, Alvin personified consummate professionalism, but he never lost his common touch. While quite comfortable with (and beloved by) bankers and executives, he reflexively comprehended truck drivers and mechanics. The diversity of mourners, the enormous turnout, and the outpouring of emotion at his own service matched his ample and authentic love for his community.
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