School Years and Growing Up
After our time in Cheyenne, Wyoming, my family decided to continue our journey and return to Nebraska. We eventually settled back in Scottsbluff, where my life as a student and young man began to unfold. Coming back was both familiar and different—it was where I was born, but I returned with memories of our time in Mexico that added a unique richness to my perspective. The vibrant culture, warm sunshine, and shared laughter we'd experienced lingered in my mind, contrasting with the rugged beauty of the Nebraska landscape. As I navigated the halls of my school, I found myself drawing on those experiences to shape my identity, bridging the gap between my roots and the new insights I'd gained. This blend of past and present became a crucial part of my journey, making the familiar seem fresh and exciting again.
Scottsbluff
Scottsbluff was a unique town—made up mostly of German-Russian families, with a smaller German-Russian presence in the barrio, and a small African-American population. In early 1917, this part of Scottsbluff was called Russian Town. In the early 1920s, Mexicans started coming to Scottsbluff and replaced most of the German-Russian workers in the beet fields. I worked the beet and potato fields most of my young life. At age 17, I worked one summer on the railroad. The barrio itself covered about eight square blocks. In the early 1950s, segregation made it difficult for Mexicans to find good jobs. Most of the work available to us was in the beet and potato fields, the railroad, or in the meatpacking plants.
My New Life
After our time in Cheyenne, Wyoming, my family decided to continue our journey and return to Nebraska. We eventually settled back in Scottsbluff, where my life as a student and young man began to unfold. Coming back was both familiar and different—it was where I was born, but I returned with memories of Mexico, Juárez, El Paso, and Cheyenne already shaping my outlook. In Nebraska, I met my mother’s sisters and brothers: Aunt Luisa Ramirez and her husband, Chon; Aunt Mary Ramirez; Uncle Norman Ramirez and his wife, Lupe; Uncle Martin Ramirez and his wife, Concepcion (Concha); Uncle Albert Ramirez and his wife, Iola; and Uncle Pete Ramirez—and a bunch of new cousins.
Language and Cultural Identity
I was still struggling with English, largely because in Texas, Spanish was spoken almost everywhere except in school. In the barrio and most public places, Spanish remained the language of daily life.
I often felt caught between two worlds: at school, I was learning American customs and values, but at home, we spoke Spanish and upheld our Mexican traditions. That balancing act became part of my identity. I learned to switch between cultures as naturally as I changed from school clothes to play clothes.
School Experiance
School in Scottsbluff brought new opportunities. I attended Roosevelt Elementary School, and after graduating, we all went on to the only high school in town—Scottsbluff High School. At that time, the school served grades 7 through 12. Eventually, an addition was constructed, and it became a junior high school that housed 7th and 8th grades separately from the high school students.
It was at Roosevelt Elementary that I met my lifelong friends—Joe Martinez (“Kokomo”), Joe Dorador (“Dordor”), and Mario G. Martinez (“Wallace”). I had other close friends as well, but these three, along with my cousin Manuel Castillo (“Sonny”), formed the core of a friendship that would last a lifetime.
I made friends from different backgrounds and began to find my footing. While I was still aware of subtle forms of segregation, I also saw signs of community and connection. I developed interests in mathematics, history, and hands-on activities. Although I had to work harder than many of my classmates, I genuinely enjoyed learning.
Family Life and Teenage years
At home, life followed a steady rhythm. My dad found work again, and my mom managed the household with care and strength. Jennie and I grew closer, and family gatherings remained a central part of our lives.
I remember the long walks to school in the cold Nebraska winters—bundled up in layers, my books tucked under my arm. Some days were tougher than others, especially when I felt like I didn’t quite fit in. But there were bright moments too—playing with neighborhood kids.
In my early teenage years, we would gather on the corner of 9th Street and 9th Avenue, across the street from Hightower’s Grocery Store. We would make plans for what we would do the rest of the day or night. Sometimes we would just go and hang out at Overland Park, across from the Cowles potato chip factory and next to Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church. Other times we would go to the Southeast Recreation (SERC) Center to play basketball, skate, or spend time inside the center. Usually, most of the guys traveled in what I would call packs. One of our friends was different—Tommy “Gullos” Rosas was a loner and would just hang out on the corner of 9th Street and 9th Avenue. We would ask him to join us, and he would always answer, “I’ll just stay here and see what happens.”
As we got older, we started to pay more attention to the girls—what we called “chicks” back then—and when possible, we would pile into any car available and travel to Morrill, Minatare, or Gering to meet up with the girls from those areas. On Saturday nights, we would go to the Mexican dances at Max’s Club. Someone would always end up in a fight with someone from a neighboring town—usually over some girl.
Growing Awarness and Dreams
These school years weren’t just about academics—they were about discovering who I was. I started to think more seriously about my future: Would I go to college? What kind of work would I do? What kind of man did I want to become?
I had become a young man at 17, and most of us in the barrio knew that we would not go to college due to our financial situation. I was older than my classmates, and this sometimes made me feel out of place. My friend “Wallace,” my other close friend Albert and Tony Sabala, and my brother Fred had joined the U.S. Navy, and most of us were thinking of joining some military branch. We knew that the draft would get us after graduation, so we didn’t have many options. Stanley Porras, Joe Martinez, and I decided we would join the Navy. Stanley failed his physical, and Joe just said, “No, I will wait for the draft.” So, I quit school and joined the Navy. My parents were not too happy, especially my father—he wanted me to finish school. Finally, with their approval, I left for Boot Camp in Great Lakes, Illinois.
This was a time of settling in, but also of looking ahead. I was no longer the little boy from the ranch in Mexico—I was becoming a young man with roots in two cultures, dreams for the future, and a growing sense of who I was meant to be.