Jaime Escalante wasn’t the only Jaime Escalante.
I remember a few days before my high school graduation Mr. Yanez mentioned the famed Latino teacher from Garfield High School whose above-and-beyond approach ruffled the feathers of the establishment but also provided a path to success for many underserved, and worse, underestimated Latino students in the 1980s. He quietly praised the fact that Escalante’s story was presented to the masses since such profiles are rare for Latinos. But I saw that twinkle in his eye. That look that hid the confident competitor underneath his humble exterior. He knew his own story was just as good, if not better. He was right.
There are hundreds of former students who either heard him bark orders on the court or listened to him analyze prose in class. His influence was palpable.
I remember him as the epitome of class. A combination of Roberto Montalban and Humphrey Bogart with a hint of Pedro Infante. He was the first Latino male I knew who taught us how to respect our culture and the hard work of our people, while reminding us that we too can wear classy suits, eat at restaurants with linen napkins and pick out the perfect bottle of wine with dinner. He showed us how love should be in a marriage, always warm and classy with his bride. Mr. Yanez knew we looked to him to set an example; it was a role he embraced.
And while there are so many who were closer to him than I, my relationship with Mr. Yanez was powerful nonetheless.
I arrived at Santa Maria High School my sophomore year and didn’t even meet the icon until I was nearly a junior. In that time, he saw me work my way up the ranks at The Breeze, the school newspaper he helped resurrect. I was never a part of his inner student circle. Santa Maria lifers like Yukiya Jerry Waki, Tim DuBransky , James Bendixen and Scott Sousa, among others, all knew him better than I, and yet, he embraced me. Senior year, our conversations increased. He asked about stories in the newspaper, commenting on our slightly immature sports column. When college applications came around, he checked my progress and I saw pride in those eyes when he found out I was accepted to USC.
I remember receiving a note in class that I was invited to Senior Honors Night, having no idea why. My GPA was always just shy of being noticed and my athletic days long behind me. I sat in the third row enjoying that night watching friends and classmates alike receive their awards. Finally, Mr. Yanez talked about this kid who never could quite qualify for a school letter, but felt deserved one. He called me on stage and presented me with the only letter I would ever earn. It wasn’t for sports, or academics. It was because he felt I had worked just as hard as anyone else who had a jacket full of them.
That letter meant more to me because those other letters were given to those who met a criteria set by the school. Mine was earned based on criteria set by him.
I remember talking to Mrs. Yanez after the ceremony and her telling me how this man, who had several children, grandchildren and thousands of students that he had reached over four decades of teaching, would arrive home frustrated trying to figure out what I could do to earn a letter. He knew I could not be in the SMHS Varsity Club, where he served as advisor, without one so he took matters into his own hands.
Years later, I realized Mr. Yanez did that which all teachers should aspire to accomplish: he saw something in me I could not see in myself, and he fostered it.
And while there are many who have stories similar or even exceedingly more poignant than mine, what makes our relationship unique is this strange fact: I was not his former student. I never took any of his classes and I was never on any of his teams. I wasn’t a member of any club for which he advised. He wasn't a family friend or had any ties to me whatsoever. And yet, he never made me feel any of this. I was one of his and I am damn proud of this fact.
As one of the few male Latino teachers at my school district in Newhall, I know my responsibility. I take so much of what I do from him. Straight stolen. Chiefly among them is knowing the key to student success is the relationship you form with them. He knew kids responded if they felt you truly cared for their well being and this bond did not end when you received your diploma. He taught us we must help those who cannot repay what you have done for them.
Maybe it was because I worked for The Breeze and he had a history with the newspaper. Maybe because he knew we needed more Latino male leaders or maybe I reminded him of someone he once knew. I’ll never really know why Mr. Yanez took a liking to me, but I know that my life would be vastly different had he not.
I am proud that he had the chance to meet my wife and commented on how he heard about the success of my children. I remember walking away from our conversation sadly believing that would be the last time I would ever see my dear mentor. But I also recall leaving with a warm feeling because he saw me to the end. I made it, in part, because he continued to push me to find a better version of myself.
He taught me lessons that I passed on to my children as a father and how I will treat my grandchildren if, God Willing, I am blessed with that experience.
Mr. Yanez deserves every praise you are all reading. The man who makes both heaven and earth better places simultaneously deserves every accolade given, every tear shed and every smile forced as we mourn. I miss my teacher; so many of us do.
Jaime Escalante isn’t the only Jaime Escalante. There is also Bill Yanez, and the man’s story should never stop being told.
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