Arturo Hernandez SametierWhen my father bought the oldest laundry in Los Angeles, it came with a scrappy old man. He was an ex-monk and ex-merchant marine without family. He'd been sleeping behind the dryers since 1952. We kept him and the same machines for another twenty yers. I grew up in East L.A., my head stuck in the back of ancient GE washers, fighting with frozen bolts and listening to Little Joe's stories.The Monte Vista Arms, a massive tenement across the street, kept my father busy making crosses out of old machine parts. He would tie them to pipes along the alley anytime another gang member from the Arms died on our premises. The last I remember was a kid named Huero. His parents sold tamales from a barrel on the corner. They draped him over our fence the day they cut him up.Teaching in Tough Places begins at the height of the violent gang era with the story of a one-room school for the Clanton and First Flat's gangs of South-Central Los Angeles - I won a grant to found it when I was 20, still a kid and with little fear. Everyone immediately came by to help: nuns to cops to management at KFC. The universe supports crazy, heartfelt dreams. The success of that one-room schoolhouse led to work with troubled kids in South Boston, Compton, Phoenix, isolated mining towns, and farming communities. The book ends with the story of a radical change by a determined tribal community dealing with Pima and Apache delinquent youth. Kids changed as the tribe reinvented schooling, especially for their most vulnerable, delinquent, and alienated youth."Shelter: Notes from a Detained Migrant Children's facility" springs from the last few years, where I have been the therapist for migrant kids separated from their parents. I felt the need to share a story that, due to Homeland Security rules, had never been told. It is the only inside account of life within our immigration shelters for unaccompanied minors. My hope is that the story of these children, before and during ICE detention, will inform a kinder, more nuanced view of who they are.I have also been blessed as a parent, storyteller, and musician. The musical with my brother (actor Marco Hernandez) was a blast and won awards. I have twin daughters who are life itself, and while they were growing up, I bought an Ice Cream truck when they needed their dad to be home. My kids and I sold ice cream after-school, and sometimes during, and we were the best damned Ice Cream Truck in Phoenix. I have one novel in print.The Music of Jimmy Ojotriste was an intense labor of several years and born of an admiration for a glass-eyed orphan who used to serenade along East L.A.'s restaurant boulevards. I was also a street musician, and with each interaction I had with this child, a story brewed a little warmer and further in my imagination. Like many authors, I write stories that I want to read: For myself, these are tales imbued with the warmth, humor, and subtle magic that have permeated my experience. The Music of Jimmy Ojotrsite has been compared to the magic realism of Allende and Marquez. It is a love letter to a glass-eyed child, and to brujos, abuelas, music, love, locuras, and illusiones. It is now 2025, and I write, create, nurture, and teach. I am working in Phoenix on a design for portable, inexpensive ultra-tiny homes to save people from sleeping on our 160-degree summer sidewalks. I dream of opening a different kind of charter school, where kids come before curriculum. In 2006, I was honored as the national Educator-of-the-Year by the American Association of Hispanics in Higher Education. Supporters have expressed hope that my ideas about education can still find realization. There is much to do. Read More Read Less