Diamonds

El Paso and Juarez make up a unique metropolitan area of over a million people, separated by a border, the Rio Grande. As you drive I-10 in El Paso, the view of Juarez is striking, and really close up. Juarez, sprawled out on several hillsides, looks like a refugee camp, to be kind. Wooded shacks, and small houses made from barn wood or cinder blocks, clutter the landscape with no real direction or pattern at all. On top of the hills of Juarez are dozens of radio and television towers. If you want to know what a third world city looks like, there you are...Juarez.

On "our" side of the river, I was in the original part of El Paso, three blocks from Juarez, and pulled to a stop in front of a warehouse, in an area where buildings were surrounded by six foot high fences, and prison-like ribbon wire on top. It was 1AM. In big cities, I like to come in late at night, when traffic is low. I was a bit nervous about being in this area, it kind of reminded me of the movie Escape from New York. The CB radio crackles with guys advertising a ride over to Juarez, to visit the bars, or the prostitutes, or the drug houses, whatever your desire.

My appointment was at 8AM, however, it was closer to 6:30 when I heard a knocking on the truck door. I jumped up out of my sleep, still wearing my macho official truck driver Spiderman pajamas, and was surprised to see lots of smiling faces looking up at me.

After quickly getting dressed and making my way outside, I found a dozen members of a Mexican family, men and women, who seemed awfully glad to see me.

A young guy (30's is young to me) approached, the name "Emilio" on his work shirt, and as it turned out, the only one who really spoke English. He introduced me to Paul, although "Pablo" was the name on his shirt. Paul was his uncle and the Boss.

I learned that this was a family operation, and they were all happy because I was bringing them their first lumber load for their hand-made furniture business. Some of the ladies were taking pictures of the lumber, of me, of my truck, my dog, they were so excited. For the past year, they had been buying their lumber, as they could, from the local lumber yard. They worked, saved their money, and here it was, their very own supply of materials, forty eight thousand pounds worth, from a sawmill in Montrose, Colorado.

I noticed the crippled forklift, held together with wire and duct tape, and wondered if it was capable of handling the one ton bundles of lumber. As it turned out, their old forklift could not do the job, and the family huddled together for a few minutes talking rapidly, as Mexican folks do. Emilio tells me that they are very sorry about the delay, and the forklift, but they will take the load off by hand. Wow! Twenty four tons of lumber by hand?

They were serious! Emilio introduces me to his aunt. She'd like to take my dog for a walk, while the rest of the family unloads the lumber. I smiled as a woman in her fifties, almost as wide as she was tall, with a very warm smile, gestures for my dog. Emilio asks for the dog's name. I say "Pedro" and the whole family laughs. I tell Emilio that it is alright with me if they name their dog Samuel. (Sam-well) The family laughs again.

Minutes later, with my truck and trailer on the street in front of their warehouse, the family began to offload the lumber. I think it was grandma who was directing traffic. I jumped up on the trailer to help. I thought we were crazy.

Emerging from his lawnmower repair shop across the street, a neighbor runs to Emilio. Emilio excitedly tells me that there may be a bigger forklift down the street. In minutes, a huge forklift comes buzzing down the street, with a smiling driver. He grabs those bundles of lumber off my truck lickety split. I watched the family as they hugged each other, and had tears in their eyes.

I pulled my truck off the street, and had an hour to visit with these folks, while I waited on my dispatcher to get me a load out of El Paso.

I discovered something. I discovered diamonds. I found the American Dream being played out, by a poor family from Juarez. Pablo, excuse me, Paul, gave me a tour of the hand-made furniture business, with his nephew in tow as interpreter. They started with a small shop in Juarez, selling small crafts and furniture to tourists, but it wasn't enough to support them. Paul noticed this empty warehouse, covered in graffiti, the fences tore down, and windows broken in a rundown part of town, across the river in El Paso. Paul and his nephew took the time to find the owner.

The owner of the building tells the family they can use the warehouse, but they have to clean it out, and clean it up. Paul then realizes that they are going to have to remove tons of old dry-cleaning equipment from the building to a vacant lot next door. They repaired fences, and they painted...covering all the graffiti. AND, they had to make a living while doing it.

Apparently the owner of the building was so impressed with the family, and their hard work cleaning up the warehouse, that he credited them a substantial down payment on the property, and sold it to them. The owner of the building sold all the old dry-cleaning equipment and scrap metal the family had removed from the building, and gave the money to the family to help with the repairs.

The American dream, is it not?

I understood then why the family was so excited to finally order, and pay for, their very own lumber supply. Before I left, I was fortunate enough to get to hug almost everybody, including the lawnmower repairman across the street.

The Lord is so good to me. Here I was, feeling blue, thinking that folks had forgotten all about the American pioneer spirit. Wondering if principles of hard work, determination and opportunity were destined to die, and I run into this family from Juarez.

Their efforts, paid off for me. I was able to earn wages hauling the lumber, and the sawmill in Colorado was able to prosper and make a sale, and employ people. Many people were positively effected by the hard work of Paul and his family.

One could make a long speech here, and try and make a load of political points. I think I will pass this time. You all know how I roll politically, and I'd rather you to think about that family. There are people like that all over this land, small business people, who daily have their fanny's on the line. Folks who strive to achieve and be a part of what made America a great land. The land of opportunity, and real hope. God Bless small business people.

As I drove away from these remarkable people, I heard, "Vaya con Dios."