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I chose to be a lawyer in the late spring of 1960 when I was six years of age. Roy, my cousin, had not gotten back home for three days, and I continued to search for him. My Abuelito (granddad), Juan de Dios Montañez, took me to the Parlier Equity Court. In those days, for a kid to enter the court, the grown-up needed to vouch and be liable for the youngster's appropriate conduct. (Presently the standard is kids are not permitted in court except if remarkable conditions exist.) Abuelito advised me to recall my "educación" (great habits and amiability).

I was surprised to see Roy get through the entryway in a line of Mexican men who were shackled and cuffed. I slid off Abuelito's lap to rest up against the bar. Every one of them looked rumpled, and (in spite of the fact that I didn't know it at that point), all were very poor. Some looked furious, miserable, apprehensive, or embarrassed. They possessed a scent like the pesticides I had smelled in the fields. The eyes of the detainees were like those of a wild pony outraged by a cowpoke attempting to break him. I had been shown to know about how I felt ,and figure out how to utilize my sentiments valuably, so I centered and quieted myself.

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