Missing Carlos Guerra Part 3

[Editor’s Note: Juan Perales is an attorney and childhood friend of Carlos Guerra’s.]

When I was a junior in high school some of my classmates were talking excitedly about a recent college graduate from Texas A&I in Kingsville who was scheduled to speak at a rally after school that evening. I didn’t know who the speaker was but I overheard some students talk about him as if he was some type of a star while he was in college. They weren’t talking about a college sports star. One student kind of characterized him as an “intellectual” star; a nerd, I thought.

My friends convinced me to attend the rally and when Carlos was introduced, I met a man with a small frame who certainly didn’t appear to be a football or basketball player. But Carlos didn’t look like a nerd either. Actually, he looked preppie wearing a brown corduroy sport coat with a handkerchief around his neck—but his long hair and mean look let you know he meant business. Carlos was introduced as one of the founders of the Mexican American Youth Organization (MAYO) who was trying to recruit new members from our town. I remember when I first heard Carlos speak at the rally — the speed of the words he uttered appeared to almost match his racing thoughts, all while he marched back and forth and hypnotized you with his focused expression and high pitched, “rebel yell” that exuded energy and motivation.

After his presentation at the rally, I introduced myself as “John” to Carlos and he related to me how he was known as “Charlie” while he was in high school. I explained to Carlos that my nickname was given to me by one of my elementary school teachers so that he could distinguish me from two other “Juanes” in my class. That evening, Carlos convinced me that I should change my nickname from “John” back to my given name, “Juan.” A few weeks later, Carlos returned to visit our newly formed MAYO organization and convinced me to run for student council president. After I filed to run, the high school principal forbade me to run under the MAYO banner and explained that it was “too political” and could incite a student walkout. The principal referred to the numerous student protests that had been staged throughout the country by students who demanded change and immediate improvements — including better facilities and relevant curriculum in their schools. After telling Carlos of the principal’s decision, he merely christened our group with a new “nickname” to use for the school election campaign — M.C.R. or Movimiento Chicano de Robe.

We didn’t win the high school election that year but Carlos had already planted the seeds of enlightenment in our community. A year after I graduated from high school, students staged a massive walkout at Robstown High School at a nearby park that marked the event forever — La Lomita. In the years to follow, citizens in our community who had been impacted in some way by Carlos’ philosophy successfully campaigned and were elected to the school board and city council in Robstown. Older citizens in Robstown claimed that they could always tell who followed Carlos’ “revolutionary” philosophy, because when asked, a follower would respond as being from “Robe,” a nickname that Carlos often used when referring to his hometown.

Carlos was a mentor and inspiration to many who met him. Carlos also made a lasting impact on me. I was fascinated by the way Carlos could speak his thoughts at such a fast rate that would demand the listener’s total attention to keep up with him and make you unable to resist the argument he expressed in a very logical and convincing manner. Naively, I figured that I could go to college and major in a similar degree that maybe taught Carlos to be such a speaker. After my first semester in college I learned that few could compete with Carlos who continued to hone his bilingual speaking skills as he travelled to countries like Cuba, Mexico and South America. Carlos eventually moved to San Antonio and turned his thoughts into words as a columnist in major newspapers that allowed him to expand his reach and impact millions of readers’ minds.

As a young activist, Carlos was sometimes called the “revolutionary Charlie War” by some of his classmates who teased him in high school. After college, Carlos was often described as a revolutionary in the Chicano movimiento. Carlos eventually became national chairman of MAYO and later led a delegation to the 1970 Los Angeles Moratorium Riots against the Vietnam War and protests against the disproportionate number of Chicano soldiers in the front lines. Carlos was indeed pursuing a revolution. Carlos later became a gifted writer, journalist and newspaper columnist he attempted to make change, and as he wrote in one of his last San Antonio Express-News columns, he “tried mightily to address matters that weren’t getting adequate attention and sought to find sources other than the usual ones to shed new light on issues of the day.” That’s certainly a very revolutionary goal.

After his recent retirement, Carlos developed a loyal following of Facebook fans who looked forward to his daily dose of witty comments and gems of wisdom. The comments left on his Facebook page reveal how Carlos touched the lives of so many people of all ages and from different walks of life. Many of his followers described how saddened they were to hear that Carlos had passed away. My daughter, Marisa, met Carlos a few months ago and I could tell he had also made some an impact on her. When I gave her the bad news, she also expressed her disappointment—but more towards me because she said that I should have introduced her to Carlos a long time ago. Some people wrote final and touching farewells to Carlos noting that he had an impact in their lives despite the fact that they never personally met. Marisa was fortunate to have a recent picture of her meeting with Carlos that she proudly posted on his Facebook page. Indeed, Carlos caused quite a revolution — and I hope it continues.