Gustavo Ramos Jr. interview, October 25, 2018: transcript

i AN INTERVIEW WITH GUSTAVO RAMOS JR An Oral History Conducted by Laurents Bañuelos-Benitez Latinx Voices of Southern Nevada Oral History Project Oral History Research Center at UNLV University Libraries University of Nevada Las Vegas ii ©Latinx Voices of Southern Nevada University of Nevada Las Vegas, 2018 Produced by: The Oral History Research Center at UNLV – University Libraries Director: Claytee D. White Project Manager: Barbara Tabach Transcribers: Kristin Hicks, Maribel Estrada Calderón, Nathalie Martinez, Rodrigo Vazquez Editors and Project Assistants: Laurents Bañuelos-Benitez, Maribel Estrada Calderón, Monserrath Hernández, Elsa Lopez, Nathalie Martinez, Marcela Rodriquez-Campo, Rodrigo Vazquez iii The recorded interview and transcript have been made possible through the generosity of a National Endowment for Humanities (NEH) Grant. The Oral History Research Center enables students and staff to work together with community members to generate this selection of first-person narratives. The participants in this project thank University of Nevada Las Vegas for the support given that allowed an idea the opportunity to flourish. The transcript received minimal editing that includes the elimination of fragments, false starts, and repetitions in order to enhance the reader’s understanding of the material. All measures have been taken to preserve the style and language of the narrator. In several cases photographic sources accompany the individual interviews with permission of the narrator. The following interview is part of a series of interviews conducted under the auspices of the Latinx Voices of Southern Nevada. Claytee D. White Director, Oral History Research Center University Libraries University of Nevada Las Vegas iv PREFACE On July 8, 1989, Gov. Bob Miller declared Gustavo Ramos, Jr. Day in Nevada. It is a honored Gus’ dedication to serving others in the community. His story begins with his August 2, 1940 birth in the small border town of Presidio, Texas. He describes it as a typical small town with a population of about 600 residents at the time. Ramos’ heritage is Mestizo and he traces his roots back to the Tarahumara tribe. His family dwelled on the borderlands that tethered the United States-Mexico together in a small adobe hut that was built by the grandfather. The grandfather made a living making and selling adobe bricks and to this day Gus can recall the sweet smell of wet adobe that filled the air when it rained. It was a simple childhood, filled with days spent outside running barefoot. The wood burning stove that was not only used to cook meals, but to warm the home on a chilly winter day. His father drove an oversized black car that would eventually bring the family from Texas to v Chino, California. When the family arrived in California, they relied on public housing in order to make ends meet in the new state. This humble upbringing and the years the family spent in public housing forever influenced Ramos’ lengthy career in Housing Authorities in different states including, California, Washington, and Nevada that spanned decades. [See Resume at the back of this book.] What follows on the next page is a reflective essay written by Gus Ramos that he felt compelled to write after spending time with the researchers of this project, reflecting on his life and accomplishments. vi Narrator’s Note I strongly believe that it has been God’s will that I choose a profession in public service, especially one that provided for the improvement of people’s lives. I worked in the provision of housing, but with that came an evolving understanding of the broader needs of the communities I served. This led me to volunteer in areas that would increase my ability to better serve them. I have done this in every community in which I lived and worked. I am an honorary life member of the Knights of Columbus, having volunteered with them in California, Nevada, and Washington State. Here in Nevada I was a member of Saint Viator’s Catholic Community in Las Vegas and Saint Francis of Assisi Catholic Church where I am now a member. They are a men’s fraternal group that do charitable works and provide spiritual support to community. Not long after I began my work with the North Las Vegas Housing Authority in 1984, I was recommended for appointment to the Clark County Community Development Advisory Committee. The Clark County Board of Commissioner appointed me in 1985. This committee vii advised the County Commission on where to allocate millions of dollars of Federal Community Development, Block Grant, Home and Shelter Grant Funding. Members of this Committee where from every township and city in the county. I had the privilege to serve as chairman of the committee. I got so much out of this involvement. I met and worked with so many wonderful people, I got to know firsthand the needs of Clark County. These funds were used to build multipurpose centers, senior centers, build or rehab fire stations, repair and improve waters systems, rehabilitate and build housing, provide assistance and shelter for the homeless. The greatest satisfaction for me was seeing the improvements to communities not only in the Las Vegas metro area, but in Mesquite, Overton, Moapa, Jean, Searchlight, and Laughlin. I was reappointed to serve on this committee for 20 years. Over my many years in housing, I have seen the devastating results of domestic violence on families. I have seen firsthand the physical and psychological damage done especially to women and children. When I was asked to volunteer for Safe Nest Domestic Violence Shelter I gladly did so. I served on the executive board as treasurer and was on the board for 6 years. Estelle Murphy was the Executive Director. It was a tremendous pleasure to work for such a dedicated and committed professional that guided Safe Nest through some lean times and grow the most valuable and needed agency for Southern Nevada to what it is today. The hand of God has always been there to guide me. Case in point, when I retired from the Housing Authority of Clark County on September 30, 2004, I visited the office of Public Employee Retirement Systems. As I approached the front door to the building I notice familiar person standing there, Carla Sloan. She had worked with me at the City of Las Vegas Housing Authority. Carla was now the administrator of the Regional Senior Services Center. viii This day she was employed as State Director of AARP Nevada. Her office was in the same building. After a hello she asked “What are you doing here?” I replied, “I am here to complete my retirement papers.” She gave me a wink and said, “Have I got a job for you.” She talked me into volunteering for AARP Nevada. I started with AARP on its Executive Council and served as State President. AARP’s mission is to work in improving the lives of older adults. In my involvement I found a world of volunteers tempered by life experiences not only in Nevada, but nationally. As State President I presented Nevada AARP at regional and national meetings. I became involved in legislative advocacy nationally and at the state level. In Nevada alone we have approximately 338,000 members. AARP is run by volunteer energy. I have been enriched tremendously by my involvement. In May 2009 I left my post with AARP Nevada and began my participation as a volunteer for AARP Washington State. Upon retiring from the Housing Authority of Skagit County in Washington June 30, 2014 I returned to Nevada AARP took a volunteer post as Ambassador. I represent AARP to organizations such as the Las Vegas Latin Chamber of Commerce. I continue my advocacy on issues and legislation. I have volunteered with many more organization that provided me with a purposeful life. Too many to name all of them here. I must add, to all this my greatest gratification is that of family always being supportive and loving. My wife Sara Lopez Ramos, my daughters Penny Ramos Bennett, and Kimberly Falls, my son-in law Ron Bennett, and my grandchildren Aharon Bennett, Addison Bennett, and Trinity Bennett. Beyond that I would also like to thank my beloved parents Gustavo and Beatrice Ramos; and my siblings Consuelo, Evangeline, Velia, Alfredo, Joe, Richard, and Betty. ~Gus Ramos ix TABLE OF CONTENTS Interview with Gustavo Ramos Jr. October 25, 2018 In Las Vegas, Nevada Conducted by Laurents Bañuelos-Benitez Preface…………………………………………………………………………………………..iv Narrator’s Note……………………………………………………………………………….v-vii Gus details hometown, including family on both sides of the border; Explains Mestizo heritage and identity; Gus describes some family photos; Details paternal grandfather’s job as an adobe brick builder; Shares details of childhood; Moves from Presido to Chino, California; Briefly speaks on his experience with education in California; talks about father’s experience looking for work in California in 1942; Describes father selling car and helping father with ranch work……………………………………………………………………………………………..1-8 Shares story of father’s philosophical teachings; Shares story of discrimination faced by his father; Talks about his experience in high school and dropping out; Shares story of discrimination while wearing Air Force uniform; Shares quotes from indigenous leaders that influenced his life; Describes how he met his wife; Speaks about wife and him working together at Scripps College; Shares story of his boss Clara Darby influencing his rise from dishwasher to Director of Operations at Scripps College; Discuses wife protesting the KKK with students; Shares experience about housing discrimination; Runs for City Council in Ontario, California; Wins city Council election…………………………………………………………………….9-17 Details now he begins building political base after he is elected; Talks in more detail about his political career in California; Contemplates switching political parties in order to take a job in the Reagan Campaign; Explains beginnings of the Section 8 housing program under the Nixon administration; Becomes involved in housing programs; Shares stories about work in public housing; Begins working in other housing authorities; Becomes director of Riverside County Housing Authority; Takes a job in North Las Vegas Housing Authority; Becomes 1st Latino to run housing authority in North Las Vegas; Golden Triangle………………………….......…18-25 Becomes involved with LULAC and Nevada Association of Latin America; Is appointed Executive Director of Housing for North Las Vegas; Speaks about leaving a women in change after he leaves a position; Moves to Clark County Housing Authority; Compares the political structures between North Las Vegas Housing and Clark County Housing…………………..26-32 After retiring from housing authority decides to move to Washington State; When Obama is elected, Gus decides to come out of retirement; Share experience starting Mi Punta de Vista Radio Program radio program on KSVR; Reflects on his time working in California, Washington, and Nevada; Pushes for the first Latino Senior Center in Las Vegas; Talks about his work with AARP; shares his advice for the next generation of Latino in politics…………33-42 x Appendix: Resume……………………. 43 – 46 Family scrapbook items………….47 1 Today is October 25th, 2018. I am in the Oral History Research Center. I am interviewing Gustavo Ramos. This is Laurents Bañuelos Benitez. I'm also joined by... Barbara Tabach. Gus, could I have you pronounce your name and spell it for me? My name is Gustavo Ramos, Jr., not to be mistaken with my father. It's spelled G U S T A V O, R A M O S, then J R, suffix. Perfect. Gus, I would like to start off with, where were you born? I was born in a little town called Presidio. It's on the border in southwest Texas, literally almost on the border. In fact, my grandmother's house was just a couple of miles from the border; you can see Ojinaga, Chihuahua on the other side. I was born there August second, 1940. According to the figures I've seen and the census, there was about six hundred and some people on our side. Presidio, that area was established in 1683, so we have a history going back that far. They celebrated, of course, their three hundredth year anniversary in 1983, the year that my grandmother died, and I was back there for that. It's now three hundred and thirty-five years old. Essentially, my people have been in that valley ever since that time. We have relatives on both sides of the border; so, therefore, we can literally say that that border crossed us, and we didn't cross the border. On this side of the border, my grandfather was the constable and he owned the local saloon. He was also a construction person that worked in adobe and built adobes. On the other side, my uncle, one of my father's brothers, became Presidente Municipal of Ojinaga, Chihuahua, and we have had politics on the Mexican side for years. So, we've had that kind of relationship, also knowing that we've always been here in these Americas. 2 Let me ask what we didn't ask at the beginning: How do you identify yourself? Mestizo. My race is mestizo because of my indigenous roots on the side of Mexico of the Tarahumara Tribe; that's where a portion of my family came from, so we have Spanish. And then my great grandmother was French. We have both the Spanish and the French and then the indigenous population. Whenever they ask me what I mark, when they ask for race, I always put mestizo; I write it in; say other and write it in. It's a mix. That's what I am. The papers that my grandfather crossed over with, it says it right on there. When he came over one time, it's marked as mestizo because that's the race. Let me get a picture of that if I may. Yes. This is my uncle, Octavio, and this is my cousin that eventually ran for office in Guerrero, Chihuahua. What years did they run for office? My uncle ran in the forties. Octavio. Octavio, sí, he ran in the 1940s, and he was an inspiration to me as a kid. This is an example of how my mother lived. This is her youth here. You can see this is my grandmother and this is my mother. And this is in Presidio. That was the kind of living that they had back then and that was in the early 1900s. I would say my mother was two years old. She was born around 1912 or so, so it would be 1914 or something like that. 3 Is this building, the adobe building in the background, is that their main living quarters? Yes. And then this grass hut, what would that be? I don't know what those were. This is a picture of my mother as well. Is she the little one? She's this one right here. Oh, the one standing up, okay. Then this is my grandfather and his brothers working the adobe. Now, this was me back then in the forties, probably 1941 or so. And this is me later on. My mother thought I was destined for some good. That's my mom and I'm sitting on the fender there with that tie on. That was around 1942, during the war. This was still in Presidio, right? This was all in Presidio and we lived there. The town next to Presidio was called Puerto Rico. It was called Puerto Rico because Pershing's troops went in there to prepare for World War I and his escapades going into Mexico after "Pancho" Villa, in 1917 I think it was. My mother was a little girl and she was cured of a fever by the soldiers that were stationed in Puerto Rico. They called it Puerto Rico because of all the money soldiers brought there. It was a rich little town next to ours. It's nothing but dirt roads. Even today you drive through there and there's just dirt roads. 4 We didn't have a mortuary in the town to bury my grandmother. We had to send her to the county seat in Marfa, Texas, which is sixty-three miles away. When I was a kid, we didn't have a movie theater. We watched our movies in an old adobe. Somebody put up a sheet and brought in one of those reels to reel projectors. That's the way we lived. My house was an adobe and I was born in an adobe, delivered by a midwife. Which one is you again, the little one or the bigger one? The little one with the tie. Cute. Do you have other photos? I'll go scan them while you guys are continuing the interview because I think that would be nice to add to the book. This is one of me when I ran for office and was elected. I was the first Latino and first person of color elected to the City Council of Ontario, California. Is this the only copy that you have of this? No, I have other copies. You can have that one. We do like donations to this, so I'll add this on behalf of your name. But that is later on. That's good. I'm going to go scan these while you continue. These are wonderful, beautiful. This one here is of my great grandfather and my great grandmother on my mother's side. I love these kinds of photos. You don't have to know the people to know there's a lot of story there. It's beautiful. I'll be right back. 5 You said your grandfather made adobe bricks, right? My grandfather on my mother's side. This is my grandfather on my father's side. My grandfather on my mother's side built his own house, of course. In fact, it's still in the family now. My aunt lived in it until she died last year at the age of ninety-two, so she kept the property. When I went back to visit, it's pretty much the same. It's the farm that I remember as a kid because he had goats and he had animals, horses and pigs and cows, and he planted on the land there and had a couple of wells that I remember. He had a windmill. They would bring water to the wells and then he had a pipe from the tank that was on the windmill that would bring water into the house, so we didn't have to pump it. It was that kind of living. What was your childhood like growing up in that town? What kinds of games did you play with the kids? It was a very simple life, obviously, because my grandfather...I spent a lot of time with him. My dad had left and come to California to find a better life because he didn't think that Presidio was anyplace for us to grow up. There was nothing, just the labores, the fields to work in, and the only other life was across the border on the other side, so he began to look outside to take us out. But for a while he was gone to California and I spent a lot of time with my grandparents, my mother and my sisters. I was the last born there and the rest of my brothers and sisters were born in California, but there was a total of eight of us. Back then it was only myself and my three sisters. We lived in an adobe house with no running water, with dirt floors. Our entertainment was walking the arroyos and visiting each other and running and playing; doing those kinds of things and making fun of the local—there were two people in town that I remember. One was Marianna 6 who had been a soldado and ran with "Pancho" Villa and she was also a teacher. They called her a maestra, Marianna Maestra. She would teach the kids outdoors using sticks on the dirt and teach us lessons. But she was a little bit weird. She had a lot of cats. She was one of the local characters. The other one was a Carmello that owned a couple of burros that actually he would sic on the kids when they called him names and such like that. The thing that I noticed also as a kid was that we had a wood stove when I was real little. It was one of those that takes kindling wood and you put it in. It's a black one. They would light it and that's how we made our food, but it also heated the house on the inside, and a kerosene heater that we used as well. I remember looking up at the ceiling and seeing the reflection of the kerosene flames on the ceiling as a child. Those are the early memories. The others are memories of sweet smell of wet adobe when it rained, something you don't get out of your memory. Whenever you smell it, it takes you home. It was that kind of living. The Apache, the Native American that would come through town selling the kindling wood for the stove at ten cents a bundle, he guided me to going to the arroyos and finding rocks and crystals that were dug up by the water when it went through those arroyos that I would these rocks take to the guy in town that used to polish them up and make jewelry. He'd give me a penny or two for whatever I picked up. As a little kid, those are little things that I did. And then running from one mesquite bush to the other because the temperature in Presidio during the summer was so tremendously hot. I was mostly barefoot because we didn't have much. You lived wearing shoes only maybe when you went to church on Sundays, if at all. We learned to walk barefoot through the hot desert sand of Presidio. It was a different lifestyle. 7 When we moved from there to Chino, California and then upland in San Bernardino County, it was both a culture shock and a change because I didn't speak any English at all. Presidio was majority Mexicano. The population there, probably 98 percent were Mexicanos. The business owner Spencer was not. We had a store in town. For a while my father worked there. My grandfather, he had his own saloon and later on next to his house he put a segunda where he would sell stuff. People would come over the border and they'd exchange things at the segunda. Things like that are things that I remember. He was always out-front greeting people going over the border, as well as coming to work on this side. My aunt, when I went back later, she started renting part of the land to people to park their cars when they came over to work, and then they'd pick it up and go back. It hasn't changed much at all. The people that were there—I had my grandaunt’s sister of my grandmother that died maybe about four years ago at a hundred and two years of age, so longevity is in the family and we had it. That was our childhood. My great grandmother lived to 105 years of age. What was your education like? What was schooling like? I didn't have any education on Presidio. I didn't start school until we came out to California. Again, that was fairly young. I must have been about nine or ten when I went to school here. It was totally different because, again, I couldn't speak the language, and so I learned from the kids because there was no such thing as ESL. You had to learn from the other kids. Luckily, I had some good teachers and I remember them well because they were compassionate enough and understanding enough to know that I had to adjust to the environment. That was probably one of the most difficult times as a child for me was to be able to adjust to a way different—well, I don't know if I would call it—it was suburban, I guess, compared to Presidio, Texas. 8 The town that I moved to was Upland, California, and it had a population at that time—I know because I remember it clearly; there was a sign as you entered the town—of about eight thousand something. It wasn't a big town. Now it's increased completely, very much. That whole area has expanded with a lot of urban sprawl now, but it was agriculture back then. What was that journey like and what brought your family from Tejas to California? My father very much wanted to get out of Presidio because he saw that the lifestyle of the community was not what he wanted for his family. Kids didn't find anything except work in the fields, and then whatever money they earned, they would go and spend it across the border in Ojinaga because Ojinaga was a much looser town. It was like any border town that you go to; the Americans cross it and it had a lot of cantinas and stuff like that. On our side of the border, it wasn't that much that way. But the border was also more open then. He just didn't want that kind of future for us because he couldn't see anything good for his family. He came out first in '42, during the war, and worked for Kaiser Steel Foundry there in Fontana, California, so he got a base. But then he lost that, and he went back to get us later and brought us out later on. We moved both to Chino, California, where a Basque rancher hired him to work on his dairies, and for a while we lived in a shack that he had, which had one light bulb in the center of the damn shack with very little light, until he was able to find a place for us in public housing in upland California. He never wanted to ask for any public housing, but he had to because obviously that was the only way that we could survive if he had help with the rent, and we were almost literally homeless when we started. But he was willing to risk. He sold the car that he had driven us out in. All I remember, it was a large black car, real big. He sold it. It was a boat. He sold it and bought himself an old International truck and started his own 9 little business cleaning out corrals at the dairies in Chino, California, and spreading the manure in the groves—orange groves, lemon groves—in the citrus groves of Upland and Ontario, California. He had ranchers that he'd work with that way. He would pull me in when I was not going to school and I'd go with him and help him. It was chicken manure; it was pig and cow manure that we hauled. At ten years old, twelve years old, I was doing the best I could. I could barely reach the pedals on that truck, but he would put me in that International and drive that truck through the rows in the orange groves. And he'd say, "Just hold the steering wheel steady." He'd pull the throttle on the darn thing and the old truck would chug forward and I'd be steering it through these rows. He'd jump back there and he'd be shoveling. Then when it got to the end of the row, he'd run around and say, "Move over," and then I'd move over and he'd climb in and turn it around. He says, "Okay, get back there." That's the way we did it. He would do that kind of stuff. My father was a philosopher and he taught. He didn't have but an eighth-grade education. He was naturalized here, became an American citizen. But he suffered a lot in discrimination and all that kind of stuff that goes on even to this day. But he maintained his pride always. In the middle of a field one day with a bunch of cows around us—I must have been ten years old; I think it was—he turned to me and he said, "I want you to remember one thing. For the grace of God we're here." He said, "For the grace of God we're here. And sometimes you're going to feel so alone that there's nowhere you can turn." But he says, "You can depend on one thing. You'll never be alone because you'll always have Him. When you can't turn anywhere else, you're going to depend on Him and on yourself, nobody else." There are a lot of times he struggled by himself. He had brothers, but some of them just...And some of the discrimination that he suffered in those early days—for example, when my mother 10 was pregnant with my brother, he had to take her to the doctor. She got very ill one day. He drove to the town of Pomona, California in that truck because that's the only transportation he had. At the outskirts of town, the police stopped him and didn't let him cross. "You can’t cross through Pomona with that truck." They diverted him back. He had to go and ask my uncle to borrow his car to take my mom to the doctor. Well, my uncle, good natured as he was, "Sure, you can borrow it if give me twenty bucks or pay for the gas or whatever." That kind of thing. That's why my father told me that one lesson about depending sometimes only on God and yourself when you've got to do something. But it's that kind of discrimination. One time he was working along the border in San Diego as a naturalized citizen and he was picked up and taken back over. Then he had to struggle to get back. Those things are happening today. Nothing has changed. We are seeing it even more severe now with what's happening. But we suffer that kind of thing without much change. Sometimes we don't know the history of what happens. I suffered it myself when I was in uniform in my own home state where I was born, when I was denied service, wearing a uniform of this country, in a restaurant. That's really something that you don't forget. Could you tell us a little bit more about that? That goes along with what happened afterwards. When I was going to school in California as a young man, going to high school, I had problems with my counselors. Number one, I lived in public housing. It all is connected. You can see the pattern and you feel it because it's a string of things that happen. The counselor that I had said that I didn't have the wherewithal to be able to 11 take college prep courses or anything like that. She wanted to put me in mechanic shop. That kind of thing. I was guided that way. I had little incentive for staying in school. I dropped out in the tenth grade and went in the military. When I was in the military, I was injured, so I was discharged honorably. The minute I came back I went right back to school. I graduated at the age of twenty from high school because I had an interruption for service, Air Force. But it taught me something. One lesson teaches you something else. That military service that I went into, when I was mustered out at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas, coming back through on a Greyhound to come back home, everybody got off at a restaurant. I walked up to the restaurant. There were drinking fountains outside and one said for colored only. You didn't know where to drink from, either the colored fountain or the white fountain, because you're not black. But then you go into the restaurant to eat and they tell you, "We don't serve Mexicans here." Here I am in the blue uniform of the Air Force going back home and they wouldn't serve me. I had to get back on the bus and wait for a while to get out of Texas. Texas has not forgotten the Alamo even to this day. As far as I'm concerned, it's a good place to be from. The people are great, the people that live there, the Mexicanos and our tremendous community there, but you've got to be careful with the ones outside and you develop a sixth sense. You develop a sixth sense whenever you're amongst certain individuals and you can feel them. It's just a part of what it was in those early days. I think all that influenced my involvement in the future because there were three indigenous people to me that influenced me the most—two of them that I think their sayings influenced me. One of them was Chief Seattle when he spoke to the Congress in 1854 and he said, "Man did not 12 create the web of life. He is merely a fabric in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself." That was one. The other one was Benito Juáres, a contemporary of Lincoln, who said, "El Respecto al derecho ajeno es la paz”. And the third one, believe it or not, is Winston Churchill because he said, "The truth is incontrovertible. Malice may attack it and ignorance may deride it, but in the end, there it stands." Those are the three principles that kind of led my life as I moved through and I saw things. I have been rewarded greatly with where I've been because of what has happened over my life. It was faith; it was guidance; I don't know what. But I've had a lot given to me over these years, more than I have taken from it, and it's been the people around me. When I lived in public housing, for example, when we moved there in 1949, as I remember correctly—and that development was established in 1943; it was war worker housing initially in '41 and '42. In '43, the Housing Authority in the City of Upland was established, and they had a project called Los Olivos. My father moved us in there because that was all he could afford. But I saw the disrespect that they had for him at the office. He wouldn't go there to take in the papers for redetermination as to whether we could continue living there; he would send me because of the way they treated him. He was a proud man. He didn't want to accept the help, but he did. I would go and I would take the papers and I would do the best I could in explaining. We had been there not long, but I was learning English now a little bit at school with other kids because I didn't speak it before. Later on, when I was sixteen, we were still living there, fifteen, sixteen; right around there. I met a young lady there by the name of Sara Gutierrez who lived also in public housing. When I was seventeen, I proposed to her. And she said to me, "No, I'm too young." We were both going to 13 the same high school. She said, "I am too young. If you stick around five years, maybe." I would go to her house and I'd sit there with her brother and her mother and I got to know them very well. She would go out on dates and we were good friends. We studied together and all that. Well, after graduation we got married. She was sixteen; I was seventeen. When I turned twenty-one, we g