Ted Trujillo was 12 years old in the summer of 1942.
He worked five days a week for the local pharmacy that summer, riding his bicycle around town delivering prescription drugs. The pharmacist permitted only one delivery at a time. Once Ted dropped off the medicine, he returned to post, was given the next package and slipped out quietly on his bike fulfilling order after order. Albuquerque was much smaller back then, sleepier, easier to navigate. Twelve-year-old Ted was fluent in these streets. He never failed a delivery. On the good days, he would earn a few dimes. He might earn a quarter or two as a tip on the really lucky ones.
“Sometimes, he would use that money to buy a banana split and eat the entire thing himself!” I remember my grandmother admitting.
He took the rest of his earnings home to be saved.
Ted Trujillo’s father, Marcelino Trujillo, was a farmer who no longer farmed. Marcelino moved the family into town in the early 1940s, trying to meet unreachable ends by working odd jobs. Ted met and fell in love with Josephine in middle school. They married when he was 17 and she was only 16. They lived happily in love until she passed in 2003. He is in love with her as much today as he was back in 1947.
And he is my grandfather.
The stories of my grandfather’s childhood jobs were just one of many my grandmother shared in her kitchen. I was fortunate to grow up next door to their house. She spoiled me with fresh sopapillas, telling and retelling Trujillo family tales while she cooked. I’d like to tell you I was her favorite. She made me feel that way. But she had too many grandchildren to love one more than all the rest.
Grandpa turns 93 this September. My aunties are planning his birthday party. The best green chile chicken enchiladas you have ever had in your life will be served (Grandma Anna’s recipe). We will retell ourselves our favorite family stories, and Grandpa will insist this is the year the Dallas Cowboys are fated to be Super Bowl champions.
His birthday coincides with National Hispanic Heritage Month, and that makes sense to me. National Hispanic Heritage Month for me is all that is mi familia. And to think of family is to embrace those values.
My grandparents never shied away from work. Neither did my parents. An eagerness to work hard, expressed through kindness and always directed toward service, was as deeply embedded into our family life as the impulse to take a breath. Like telling stories in the kitchen, it’s who we are.
“You can’t get your guys to work if you are not working beside them,” Grandpa still urges me.
He’s right. My grandfather ultimately became a carpenter and guided my father, his son-in-law, into carpentry. They built the house I grew up in. My nephew and his young family now live in that home. Grandpa still lives next door. That alone is a legacy to honor.
I share the story of a 12-year-old kid in Albuquerque, New Mexico, over 80 years ago because it is a narrative of Hispanic heritage of which I am so proud. At its core, it is a story of love, hustle and grit.
My path to becoming vice president of primary and urgent care at our state’s largest health system has been gritty, and I sometimes felt like trying to meet the same unreachable ends Marcelino Trujillo battled. But I have been afforded the luxury of education and working for a remarkable healthcare organization. And while my loyalty to New Mexico has roots in optimism, being optimistic doesn’t mean I deny the harsh reality that we rank last in most significant healthcare categories. I know that our problems here are solvable, suffering among our loved ones can be lessened and our community can be healthier. The solutions to improving healthcare for New Mexicans is, at the core, also a story of love, hustle and grit.
I have coffee with Grandpa very early most Saturday and Sunday mornings. We read the paper together. He tells stories. We both miss Grandma. He is still fluent in the streets of this city and carries himself with the energy and spirit for hard work, love and fresh sopapillas. On occasion, we trace his old delivery routes that he once pedaled, just for kicks. The pharmacy is long gone, but his memory and ability to share is still there.
As you celebrate National Hispanic Heritage Month, please spend time with your loved ones and lean into the challenges that require extra hustle and grit. Remember how we do all that we do, really, for love.
And a note to administrators: You are probably still thinking about a 12-year-old boy delivering prescription drugs. Some things in healthcare have improved for the better!
Michael Montoya, FACHE, is vice president, primary and urgent care, Presbyterian Medical Group, Albuquerque, N.M. He is a 2023 Thomas C. Dolan Executive Diversity Program Scholar.