State Sen. Pete Suazo was my friend. He was everyone's friend. His accidental death stunned us and simultaneously reminded us of our mortality. He was not a man of mortal wealth, yet his friends and admirers numbered in the thousands because his life resonated the civilized theme that a person of passion, perseverance and love for his fellow man, regardless of their color, religion or education, is truly rich.
I first met Pete at the University of Utah in 1971, a lifetime ago. We became friends and discovered mutual roots in the northern mountains of New Mexico where our Spanish forefathers had settled over 300 years before. He was slightly built at 120 pounds and 5-foot-9. His clean-shaven face was framed by wire glasses and shoulder-length brown hair. We were "Chicano" then, searching for an identity.
We were apple-pie Americans, but as "minority" students we were treated as foreign elements on a pristine campus. So few Chicano students, so many hurdles.
I remember a class where the teaching assistant allowed students to share their grade with someone getting lower marks. Pete talked me into trading my "A" for a "B" so a Chicano student getting a lower grade could be pulled up to a "C." He said that way four of us would go on, bettering chances one of us would graduate.
Another time he championed ethnic unity by asking student government leaders to let Chicano students have block seating at football and basketball games. He wanted Chicano students to sit together, to know each other, to help each other, to care about each other.
I really came to know Pete in the summer of 1973. We were both admitted to the University of Utah Law School, contingent on passing a summer course at Arizona State in Phoenix. We roomed together and were inseparable that summer.
Fortuitously, for us, Cesar Chavez was also in Arizona organizing oppressed lettuce workers. As the Watergate hearings riveted a nation, we studied in the mornings and, at every opportunity, made signs, attended rallies and marched in the lettuce fields with Cesar Chavez. Before every march, Cesar attended Mass, so Pete and I became regular church attendees. Pete remembered that summer and occasionally mentioned it in his talks. He was proud to have marched for justice with Cesar Chavez, a gentle soul who dedicated his life to those less fortunate.
After graduate school, Pete and Alicia moved to New Mexico and I to Washington, D.C. Coincidentally, we both came home in the mid-80s.
Pete was destined to build a bridge between the disenfranchised and their government by illuminating issues too long ignored.
Pete's gentle demeanor contradicted his cause-oriented fervor. You might disagree with Pete, but you couldn't help but like him, nor could he hold a grudge or belittle someone because they disagreed with him. His easy smile always told you he cared, even about Republicans, who he thought misguided but salvageable.
Pete was not perfect. He made his share of mistakes. He blamed himself when his sons ran afoul of the law. He publicly faced detractors by acknowledging no family is immune from our societal drug problem. A loving parent, he never abandoned his sons or feelings of guilt for not being able to turn back the clock.
Pete, your compassion energized a community. In your honor, I commit to speak out whenever I see injustice, bigotry or hatred. I will treat everyone as an equal, with respect, as you did. I promise to take my children fishing often and enlighten them about Cesar Chavez and my friend Pete Suazo.
Two ordinary men, of whom little was required, who triumphed over adversity to touch the hearts of so many. Hermano, you made a difference, via con Dios. Alicia, mi casa es su casa, our prayers are with you and your sons.
Utah native Mike Martinez, an attorney in private practice, is active in Hispanic affairs. He has previously worked in the Utah Attorney General's Office, the Salt Lake County Attorney's Office and for the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission in Washington, D.C. E-MAIL: mmartinez@inquo.net