Merry Christmas

The holidays always seem to bring something unexpected. This year, I have been very touched by a client who located me after many years of searching.

In 1988, fresh out of law school, I began working with Farmworker Legal Services under what was then known as the VISTA program.It was the tail-end of the “amnesty" and I handled a number of cases involving migrant farm workers who were eligible for “green cards” given the agricultural work they’d performed in the United States between May 1985 and May 1986. It was my first experience in immigration law.

It was around then that I met Mr. Martinez. I met him only once, briefly, to obtain his signature on a form, though I handled his case for several months, including an appeal when he’d been wrongfully denied his permanent residence. The immigration service denied his application by claiming that he could not have picked apples at a dairy farm, and dairy work did not qualify one for amnesty. With one quick phone call to the farm’s widowed owner I learned that when her husband had died, she’d turned over the family farm to her sons who decided to harvest apples rather than milk cows. However, the farm’s name had never been changed. Given a simple affidavit from the farmer, Mr. Martinez became a permanent resident.

I can no longer recall how old Mr. Martinez was when I met him but I remember that he appeared weathered and elderly despite his tall, thin frame and healthy presence. I would guess he’s about 70 today. We stayed in touch for at least ten years as I moved around the country from job to job, and he traveled the migrant season from north to south. We wrote back and forth to each other a couple times every year, and spoke by telephone occasionally. I even once received a letter from a priest in Mexico telling me that Mr. Martinez had had a Mass performed for me in his native country. And then one day there was no word. When I thought of Mr. Martinez, I could only assume he’d passed away. Fortunately, I was wrong.

This Christmas, however, I received a card from him. I recognized the name and the handwriting immediately. He wrote to me hoping that I was the “Sofia” for whom he’d been searching for a long time, and asked me for my telephone number, explaining that he could not reach me with the one “they” had given him. I don’t really know how Mr. Martinez found me. It certainly wasn’t through Google or Facebook. Nonetheless, I am impressed by his determination and flattered by his consideration.