America’s Always Open by School of Art, George Mason University

AMERICA′S ALWAYS OPEN

ONE FAMILY′S JOURNEY FROM HONDURAS TO AMERICA′S DINER

Copyright © 2021 by Nelson Zelaya All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical and reviews.

DEDICATION For my mother, who has continually empowered those around her to succeed and thrive in the United States. Your labor doesn't go unnoticed. I love you dearly.

Preface

ALL-AMERICAN EFFECT The roots of Latino migration in the U.S.

HOW MANY IN YOUR PARTY? A Honduran family’s U.S. journey

BUILD YOUR OWN SLAM Building a life in the U.S.

ALWAYS OPEN 24/7 Inside a family-run restaurant

CAN I TAKE YOUR ORDER? My personal story

BEHIND THE COUNTER A look towards the future of the family

Conclusion

Bibliography

Preface 2020 was a challenging year for humanity. The restaurant business, in particular, took a massive hit, with dozens unexpectedly laid off. The pandemic is especially troubling for all the men and women who are undocumented workers in the food industry. The middle-aged woman who runs the drive-thru of your local McDonald’s. The young man who works late nights in the kitchen of a steakhouse. Each is omnipresent in our daily lives yet disfranchised by issues we may never truly understand. Despite all of this, they are fighters who are critical and contributing members to the United States economy. One of those fighters was once herself an undocumented worker, in that of my mother. Her role as a general manager of a Denny’s restaurant establishment has been shaken significantly but not broken. As a child who grew up intimately in the food industry, this past year has brought much thought to the level of sacrifice and determination required to cut it in America. My family’s backstory is not uncommon; in fact, it’s representative of a growing group of first-generation Americans. I hope that readers will reconsider the concept of an immigrant through the personal accounts shared in this book. My goal is not to argue for or against immigration policy, but instead, to provide the context to its existence and success in the United States. Furthermore, the following story should serve to inspire future and current generations of immigrants. You can succeed in the United States.

ALL-AMERICAN EFFECT THE ROOTS OF LATINO MIGRATION IN THE U.S.

The American Dream Benjamin Franklin once said, “Human felicity is produced not so much by great pieces of good fortune that seldom happen, as by little advantages that occur every day.”¹ Such statements have become a modern-day microcosm of the aspirations laid forth by the founding father to future generations of the American people. The American Dream is a perpetual national mentality that has risen alongside the growth of an immigrant-led America. It speaks significantly about how success can be attained through hard work regardless of origin, as shown in Benjamin Franklin’s rise to historical prominence.² 10

Many pundits have critiqued the American Dream’s deceptive ideology, pointing towards a worldly standard of living.³ The presence of advertising and television sitcoms helped carry on such beliefs to an American audience hungry and ready to manifest a world with white picket fences.⁴ Where did this leave the flock of people who would increasingly migrate to the United States in the back half of the 20th century? Were their aspirations aligned to those depicted in American pop culture? Who were they, and why were they coming to the United States?

“The American Dream was authentic to them and enough of a reason to risk their lives for it.”

Worth Fighting For The American Dream is not the same concept for everybody pursuing it. What defines a dream is understood as a relative reflection of what one covets and or lacks in the first place. Furthermore, if a young citizen in the United States values an expensive lifestyle instead of an average nineto-five existence, that can represent fulfilling the American Dream. In contrast, an immigrant setting foot in the United States for the first time may view arriving in the country as reaching the end goal. Above The amount of migrants crossing the border has steadily increased since the 1990s. By the 2000s, the issue became a topic of political discourse. Photo: John Moore/Getty Images

The conditions of an individual’s environment primarily play a role in the differing interpretation of what

quantifies as a fulfilling life. A Pew Research Center study revealed a surprising 51% of Latinos believed they had achieved the American Dream. Of those surveyed, 21% attributed their arrival in the United States as the key reason for success.⁵ For many Latinos, surviving the perilous journey across the Mexico–U.S. border was not only an accomplishment but also a golden ticket to success. Latinos were better off being illegal immigrants in a foreign land than being kings in their own home country. The American Dream was authentic to them and enough of a reason to risk their lives for it. 13

Central America What exactly was going on in Central America to cause this emigration? Were crime and poverty an absolute certainty for the children living in countries such as Honduras, El Salvador, and Guatemala? In her book, “They Take Our Jobs!” and 20 Other Myths about Immigration, author Aviva Chomsky points out, “Poverty, lack of opportunity, and danger ‘push’ people to leave; opportunity, availability of jobs, education, and safety ‘pull’ people elsewhere.”⁶ In one way or another, all of these factors were interrelated in a lengthy and complicated century of U.S. intervention in Central America. Following the Spanish-American War in 1898, the United States became embroiled in a series of interventions and occupations in Central America and the Caribbean.⁷ Each country suffered bloodshed in varying degrees; however, the emergence of corruption in U.S. involvement redefined the rest of the 20th century.

Opposite Central America, the southernmost region of North America, spans 521,876 square kilometers (201,497 square miles). The area is comprised of Panama, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Honduras, El Salvador, Guatemala, and Belize.

Century of Chaos

Above United Fruit Company workers in Honduras go on strike in 1954. Photo: Ralph Morse/Getty Images

Above Right U.S. Marines hold up the captured flag of Nicaraguan revolutionary leader Augusto César Sandino. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

The first example of corruption came in the form of “banana republics.” Bananas were beginning to take form as a valuable asset at the turn of the century. American fruit corporations recognized that controlling the banana supply directly from the source would give them a leg up in the market. Each corporation was vying to control Central American territories, offering economic infrastructure support in return. Backdoor deals were done between political figureheads and

fruit corporations, resulting in new military regimes to placate foreign business.⁸ The result was disastrous. Leaders of Central American countries were installed to serve the interest of American big businesses. Honduras was at the forefront when, in 1911, Manuel Bonilla and American businessman Sam Zemurray staged a coup to overthrow President Miguel Dávila.⁹ Unfortunately, this sort of deceit became a dominant force

in the intervening years that led to instability and poverty. In Latin America, many plantation workers got tired of working long hours and in poor working conditions. Civil unrest led to the people forming resistance militias looking to overthrow military-led governments. The United Fruit Company was at the center of it all, as the de facto American corporation with a monopolized control of fruit plantations across Central America. The giant fruit corporation was valued at $100 million in 1920, which converts to $1.285 trillion in 2020 dollars.¹⁰ United Fruit’s affluence extended beyond just market share, as it managed to employ the American military on its behalf on multiple occasions.¹¹ The Banana Wars set in motion the pretext that the U.S. was within its right to interfere with Latin American countries in the best interest of protecting American big businesses. The U.S. involvement wasn’t well-received by Latinos, and in turn, created a fallout that would incite division with multiple countries. The U.S. occupation of Nicaragua from 1912 to 1933, as part of the Banana Wars, set in motion a series of interrelated wars that would ravage Central America in the back end of

the 20th century.¹² A rebellion led by Augusto César Sandino coincided with the Great Depression, forcing the U.S. to pull back its forces. Sandio would be assassinated shortly after by the National Guard, led by General Anastasio Somoza García. As history unfolded, Somoza ruled Nicaragua under a dictatorship for 43 years, whereas Sandino’s beliefs would carry on a Nicaraguan Revolution that fueled future wars. Left-wing militant groups rose across Central America, prompting the U.S. to establish government forces and death squads in El Salvador, Honduras, Guatemala, and Nicaragua.¹³ The height of the turmoil would intensify in the 1980s, where U.S. forces waged war on militant groups in various countries. From the Sandinistas in Nicaragua to the FMLN party in El Salvador.

alarming civilian casualty rates of the period. The Salvadoran Civil War occurred from 1979 to 1992, resulting in over 75,000 civilians dying at government forces’ hands.¹⁵ Historians argue that the U.S. helped perpetuate the Central American Crisis, resulting in the displacement of millions of indigenous communities. If anything is sure, the United States’ allure increased out of the constant upheaval occurring in Central America. The breadcrumb trail of corruption and destabilization occurring throughout Central America set the stage for the migration boom of the 21st century.¹⁶

Honduras played an essential role in warding off the Sandinista government in neighboring Nicaragua. The Central American country served as a hotbed for U.S. military presence and funded the Contras, a right-wing rebel group.¹⁴ The ensuing chaos left the fragile Central American region in a state of political repression and economic instability. It would be remiss not to mention the downright 17

HOW MANY IN YOUR PARTY? A HONDURAN FAMILY′S U.S. JOURNEY

The Beginning The beginning of our family lineage starts in Magdalena, a small municipality in the Honduran department of Intibucá. The region of Intibucá is vastly mountainous and located geographically in the southwest area of Honduras. Magdalena is situated near the El Salvador–Honduras border, only three-hours distance between the two countries. My grandparents both came from wealthy parents, who arranged for the couple to get married at a young age. They both 18

settled in Magdalena in the late 1960s, where they would begin raising a large family. My grandmother was only 16-years-old when she gave birth to her eldest daughter, Sonia, in 1969. There were six more children born in the following decade, two boys and four girls. The group of seven was a real handful to take care of for two parents. My grandfather took it upon himself to bear the financial responsibilities of the household. He used his parent’s inheritance to buy a farm on the outskirts of Magdalena.

Farm Life The family farm produced milk and cheese that was sold around the Intibucá region. Each of the children was involved at a young age with the responsibilities of running a farm and selling the products locally. Despite all the hard labor, it also became an essential fixture in the children’s happiness. The vastness of a wideopen farm lent itself well for nine lively children. The children would chase roosters, milk cows, and ride around on horses. This was the Zelaya family’s brand of fun. The children didn’t have the luxury of owning toys, let alone shoes, yet they managed well

without them. The public perception of children in third-world countries is that their indigent environment prevents them from experiencing day-to-day pleasures. My uncles and aunts didn’t view it that way. Instead, they considered that period as the best moments of their life.

like Magdalena became primarily impoverished. The family’s livelihood depended on the farm’s success, but it quickly became a lost cause. My grandfather sold his farm and moved his family to La Esperanza, the capital city of the Intibucá region.

The farm in Magdalena wasn’t making enough money entering the 1980s. The wars in El Salvador and Nicaragua had adverse effects on unemployment rates and destabilized rural regions.¹⁷ Urbanization took center stage, and small municipalities

Above Left My family is celebrating the graduation of Sonia in a nearby town close to Magdalena. Opposite Sonia was the eldest daughter on the far left. She was followed by Gloria right beside her. My mother, Vilma, was on the far right. Marleny in the center. She was followed by Franklin and Alma. The youngest child of the bunch was Celeo on the far left.

Growing Up Times were tough after the family moved to La Esperanza. The family was far removed from the comfort of farm life and now lived in the void of a larger city. My grandfather turned to a variety of odd jobs selling old clothes and shoes. Even the children would take time after school to help him on such endeavors. Unfortunately, the money wasn’t cutting it for a family of nine. My grandfather began to receive letters from some of his old friends living in the United States around this time. Each of the letters was filled with anecdotes that spoke towards the wealth of opportunity 22

and money available in America. It’s important to consider that there weren’t many Hondurans migrating to the United States during the 1980s. The lack of a Honduran presence in the U.S. intimidated many from even considering entering a foreign land.¹⁸ That was all about to change. Don Julian was a farmer from the Magdalena area who inevitably became close acquaintances with my grandfather. The farming community was a tight-knit second family of sorts. Each man understood the hardships of maintaining a farm and raising a family. The bond between these men was vital to how they saw their

communities prospering. Furthermore, in moments of distress, each farmer always came to their ally’s rescue. Don Julian had since moved to the United States in the years that followed our family’s transition to La Esperanza. He worked as an undocumented worker for a dine-in restaurant and lived in an immigrant share house sponsored by the restaurant. The sheer jubilation in Don Julian’s letters caught the attention of my grandfather. Money in the United States was on a completely different level than what farmers were accustomed to making. Don Julian’s tales were our family’s first exposure to what the United States was and what it could do for our future.

Above and Right (3) Sonia was notably older than the rest of her siblings. She had settled into a life as a school teacher in Honduras and the first to have children. The rest of the siblings began to grow into adults as their father began contemplating a move to the U.S. Opposite (2) Each of the children was continuing their education in La Esperanza, and even took part in local traditional dances around town.

Crossing the Border

Above Nearly half of all migrant deaths occur in the Sonoran Desert, with hopefuls looking for a better life in the United States. Photo: Kevin Cooley/The New York Times

Opposite The Sonoran Desert is often a hot climate, with summer temperatures exceeding 40°C (104°F). Photo: Jason Motlagh/RollingStone

At this moment, my grandfather set his sights on working in the United States. The only problem was he didn’t have any money to his name. Voyaging from Honduras to the United States wasn’t a free expense. There were specific methods put in place for immigrant transportation, and they required large sums of money. It all began by getting hold of a “coyote,” a person who orchestrates a safe passage across the Mexico–U.S. border. The coyote requires half of the money paid upfront before transportation begins. The cost of a coyote’s services was around $2,000 in the late 1980s. Not only did my grandfather lack pertinent

coyote contacts, but he also couldn’t cover the upfront cost. Don Julian took it upon himself to do all the leg work in coordinating and covering the cost of a coyote. It didn’t take much convincing for my grandfather to accept the offer; there was no alternative. Don Julian’s kind gesture played a decisive role in our family’s migration towards the United States. My grandfather told the children that this would only be a brief trip to make money for the family’s sake, but much was still uncertain. The year was 1990, and my grandfather braved a 23-day expedition that led him to Arizona.

It all began by arriving at the meetup spot in El Salvador, where a pair of the coyotes were waiting in a large transport truck. Commonly, a transport truck is filled with upwards of 100 immigrants. The smoothest stretch of the route spans from El Salvador to Guatemala, where there weren’t immigration checkpoints. Once in Mexico, the longest part of the journey, everyone in the transport was on high alert for unexpected interruptions. People from Central America viewed Mexico as a frightening place, where anything could happen. Coyotes were wellconnected people who had contacts in a multitude of countries. By the time they were deep into Mexico, there usually would be a switch of personnel. A Mexican coyote would overtake the original coyote’s transport duties. The changeover of coyotes was a regular occurrence, based on an individual’s expertise with the area. A tremendous amount of patience and trust is required to not lose your cool during all the inner workings of reaching beyond Mexico, and consequently, the United States. The final pitstop was just outside the Sonoran Desert, where each immigrant got off the transport truck and was led into an undisclosed building for

nightfall. The United States was only one vast and isolated desert away from actuality. The Sonoran Desert was the proverbial crack in the armor of the Mexico–U.S. border.¹⁹ Coyotes viewed it as a promising path due to its sheer size, making it harder for border control to spot immigrants. However, the enormity of the desert pitted each immigrant in a battle of absolute will. Trekking across the Sonoran Desert is a life and death event that each immigrant must come to terms with from the very beginning. Everything up until that point rides on the success of surviving the climate and wildlife of the unforgiving

terrain. My grandfather described the experience as the most challenging thing of his life. The collective ache turned into profuse joy as the group of immigrants finally passed the border into Arizona. It wasn't an easy task, but it was necessary. Upon arrival in Arizona, the coyotes had already arranged a domestic flight headed towards Virginia, where Don Julian resided. The coyote smuggling scheme took advantage of the lack of measures to identify immigrants on domestic flights. All they required was a plane ticket, and they were off without questions. 25

Left The immigrant sharehouse was right underneath the restaurant dining floor, down a flight of stairs. From the outside, it looks like only a storage room but it represented so much more. Opposite Illegal workers would funnel into the backdoor of the restaurant and immediately be thrust into action. The restaurant has long since been shut down, but the memories remain intact.

Working Illegally The first three months in the United States were a period of inactivity and endurance for my grandfather. He was situated with a spot on the immigrant share house floor, where Don Julian also took his stay. My grandfather didn’t have a formal job offer yet despite the fact he was residing within the restaurant’s illegal ring of workers. There would be many instances where the restaurant was filled to capacity, and the owners came in calling for all the hidden undocumented workers to come in and help. The scene was chaotic. After three months, the restaurant offered 26

my grandfather a dishwashing job. Back in Honduras, each of the children was still finishing up their studies. There was a noticeable age gap between the siblings, with the eldest child, Sonia, entering adulthood and beginning a career as a teacher in Honduras. For the remaining children, their parents expected a similar lifestyle trajectory in Honduras for them. My grandfather would send remittance payments from the United States, and the family would use the money to live and continue studying. The arrangement continued for a few years until my grandmother

decided otherwise. My grandmother took over many of the parental duties, and it became increasingly difficult for her to watch over each child. Difficult decisions needed to be made in the best interest of the family. The oldest son, Franklin, had gotten himself into trouble, and on a whim, she decided that it would be best if he joined his father. After arriving in the United States, Franklin began working in the same restaurant as his father. The pair made enough money to upgrade from the overcrowded immigrant share house to a rented room in an apartment.

“The party of one had quickly become a group of six immigrants and one child.”

Party of Seven

Above Nelson Xavier Zelaya was born on June 20, 1994. The date would mark the first U.S. national born child in the Zelaya family. Above Right My uncles and aunts spent a considerable amount of time taking care of me at childbirth; in this following instance, it was my aunt Marleny.

Franklin’s situation ultimately opened the door for the rest of the children to eventually reach the United States. My mother came next. Her arrival took my grandfather by surprise. Honduran men viewed women as either housewives or educated individuals working in classrooms and hospitals. Immigrant women in the United States were in store for laborious work, a reality that my grandfather didn’t wish for his daughters. Despite this, the allure of the U.S. dollar began to garner the interest of each of the remaining children in Honduras. Nobody wanted to be left out. My mother’s arrival in 1993

also coincided with an unexpected pregnancy within the first few months of living in the United States. By the time I was born in 1994, the subsequent three children, Gloria, Marleny, and Celeo, had arrived individually across the border. One room was no longer enough to house us all, so we upgraded to renting an entire two-bedroom apartment. My grandfather’s vision for the family was taking shape in a completely different direction. The majority of his children arrived in the United States, and now a grandchild was born on U.S. soil. The party of one had quickly become a group of six immigrants and one child. 29

BUILD YOUR OWN SLAM BUILDING A LIFE IN THE U.S.

On Our Own My grandfather returned home to Honduras in 1995. He was in a different stage of his life, and the United States could never replace his wife and hometown. The United States was a means to an end, escaping poverty and building a better life in Honduras. He had made more money than a simple farmer from Magdalena would ever hope to gain in a matter of five years. In an unexpected turn of events, he would leave behind his children as he did in 1990. Be that as it may, the onus 30

was now on each of them to grow into successful adults in the United States. The five siblings had each other, and my grandfather knew that counted for something. Each sibling worked in varying roles in the food industry. Celeo and Franklin worked in the kitchen of the restaurant that initially brought in their father. Marleny worked as a host in that same restaurant as well. Gloria operated the restaurant’s subsidiary bakery. Then came my mother, who decided instead to work at McDonald’s.

The Golden Arches

Above (2) Working at McDonald’s in many ways was a second home for my mother. Each of her fellow employees was like a second family, and celebrating birthdays commonly occurred between them. Opposite My mother and I enjoyed lunch with the limited time we had together. There weren’t many opportunities, but we took advantage of them.

McDonald’s establishments were all around us and a place that many immigrants thought to work at first. My mother was drawn to the opportunity to get extra hours, which were limited in restaurants and bakeries. Fast-food chains had high turnover rates, so it was easy to rise above the ranks if one was willing to go beyond what was asked of them. My mother had a customary work shift, but she always managed to find a reason to stay a few extra hours. Eventually, her behavior caught the supervising manager’s

attention, who himself was once an immigrant from Pakistan. The supervising manager decided to take my mother under his wing, teaching her and preparing her to become a manager. My mother became a manager at McDonald’s nearly a year into the job. Her new responsibilities began to take charge of all of her time. From 4:00 a.m. to 7:00 p.m. each day, she would work at McDonald’s. There would be occasions that I went to work with my mother, usually when there was no available uncle or aunt. I wasn’t working during those early

years, rather aimlessly passing the time. The hidden area that each child dreamt of viewing behind the counter of their local McDonald’s establishment was my living quarters. In the instance that I grew tiresome of that arrangement, which was often, I relocated towards the open dining area of McDonald’s. I would sit there for hours at a time, wishing for a new batch of kids to play with in the restaurant’s playground. As I think back to those kids, I wistfully recall wanting them to stay, but they were different than me. I’d be the only kid that would remain within the golden

arches. Deep down, I understood the situation my mother was in. She was a single parent displaced in the chaos of maintaining a fast-food establishment. The majority, if not all, of her staff, were immigrants just like her. The power dynamics between the underbelly of the foodservice industry and the average American consumer was a palpable factor in the day-to-day operations of McDonald’s. Customers were king, and they took advantage of the pretext that all employees were nothing more than “illegal” immigrants. By the same token, I

was the son of the no-good illegal. What did that make me? On a variety of occasions I witnessed prejudice aimed towards each of my family members, usually at work. Perhaps what was so alarming about the occurrence was in its subtle nature. My family didn’t cave in; what they desired to say went unsaid. Only in this way could they move forward, however insecurely, in the face of prejudice and discrimination. I didn’t quite understand it as a child; even so, my family’s strength never appeared to wane. 33

Right The bed in the picture, in reality, spanned the majority of the room. It didn’t help that there was another bed right across from us. The beds acted as our floor, more or less. Opposite My Aunt Marleny is often mistaken for my mother. Their personalities couldn’t be more different. Marleny was the young and stylish one, whereas my mother was the serious and determined type.

A Collective Effort As a single parent, my mother couldn’t always take care of me, and in those days, there usually was a relative available at home to take on the responsibility. My uncles and aunts all played an essential role in my childhood, as they each collectively filled the absence of a father figure. During that time, I was growing up and entering school. Each would often walk me to the bus stop and pick me up later on in the day. My afternoons usually would revolve around what they were doing. I spent many days on soccer fields, where my uncles loved playing pick-up soccer games with co-workers. As a young kid, I quickly grew tired of

being obligated to tag along but leaving a child home alone wasn’t necessarily an option. Even if I resented it, there was no denying that they treated me as their own, providing food and care. It wasn’t conventional, but it worked. My mother was the only one in the apartment with a child until that point, which greatly affected her frame of mind. She assumed the role of leader from the moment my grandfather left. The defining trait that separated my mother from her siblings was her ability to observe everything from a bigger picture. My mother was always was looking for ways to improve our living conditions

in the United States. Not only was she a sensible spender, but an even more ferocious saver. No dime would go to waste in the Zelaya residency. The first example of this occurred when she decided to move the family into a two-bedroom condo in Vienna, Virginia. Despite the size, this was our first proper home in the United States. We had multiple beds in each room in place of available rooms. Our family wasted no space. Vienna was a small town that lent itself well to walking as a primary form of transportation. That was perfect for us. None of the adults were driving yet, but we got on just fine without it. 35

America’s Diner

Above The photo was captured on one of my mother’s final days at McDonald’s. The near ten-year stint at the company was a life-changing position that eventually catapulted a career at Denny’s. Above Right Gone were the uniforms. My mother was now official. She was dressed in business attire, ready to face the world head-on.

Each sibling continued working the same jobs in the six years that we lived in Vienna. In 2002, my mother had saved enough money to depart our two-bedroom condo for a larger home, with enough bedrooms for each of us. No more sharing rooms! It was as if everything was going our way. Then suddenly, my mother left McDonald’s in 2003 after a dispute with her district manager. My mother’s departure from McDonald’s caught us all by surprise. As a family, we had only recently

moved into a bigger home in a new town. The change was swift. I thought to myself, “Am I dreaming? She quit McDonald’s, and now she is being rewarded with a bigger and better house? How is this possible?” She describes the experience as a painful period in which fears of dwindling funds were potent. Tenured managers at McDonald’s benefited from the higher end of the salary scale than a traditional fast-

food worker. If a McDonald’s district manager noticed a particular store excelling in revenue share, a promotion or noticeable salary increase was imminent for the store manager. In my mother’s case, she had excelled for well over ten years, in which her salary reached the highest end of the spectrum. It was a great sign towards the managerial role’s long-term mobility, but it didn’t translate if you switched fast-food companies. Fastfood managers were expendable. No

other company would be willing to match her previous salary, even if the revenue numbers backed her value. My mother would have to be required to take a significant pay cut if she wanted to remain in the fast-food business. In the end, she applied to a variety of fast-food giants in the area to no avail. As fate would have it, a job posting for a manager position at the Manassas Denny’s location appeared in the newspaper. My mother called in

and subsequently pitched her past success at McDonald’s to the intrigue of a Denny’s district manager. The Manassas Denny’s location was severely underachieving compared to the other dozen franchise restaurant’s split between Florida and Virginia. The district manager of the Virginia set of restaurants was tasked to replace the current general manager and revitalize the Manassas location’s economic footprint. He gave my mother a chance, a three-month trial, to be exact. 37

“A lot of work would have to be done to rebuild the restaurant.”

Rebuilding

Above Awards were commonly distributed to general managers who achieved continual success. My mother compiled her fair share over the years at McDonald’s. It didn’t take long before she did the same at Denny’s.

The atmosphere of Denny’s was completely different than what my mother was previously accustomed to. There weren’t very many Latino workers in the restaurant, and the customer base was largely Caucasian. My mother’s English ability was more than serviceable for a fastfood establishment, but Denny’s brought out a whole new depth to the interaction with customers. She was taught the ropes from cooking in the kitchen to handling customers on an intimate level.

The general manager at the time was personally training my mother without the knowledge that she was aiding the replacement. Some of the other managers caught wind of this and resented the company’s decision to task a new employee with such a coveted role. It was a harsh reality of working in an industry that could always find someone on the street to do a better job than you. My mother’s track record was tried and proven, but a lot of work would have to be done to rebuild the restaurant. 39

ALWAYS OPEN 24/7 LEADING A FAMILY-RUN RESTAURANT

Staff is Key Running a restaurant isn’t an easy task. If we’re defining a well-run restaurant, it boils down to consistently giving good service and food. That’s simple enough, yet a laborious endeavor. Now, consider a restaurant that never closes and how much more difficult it is to look after. The restaurant’s overseeing manager must always prepare for the following shift, day, and upcoming week. Personal free time and work quickly become interchangeable, and moreover, life revolves itself around the fluid environment of a restaurant. 40

Even so, it almost always boils down to having a great staff. The food service industry has a habit of churning out people like there’s no tomorrow. Part of the high turnover rate problem comes down to the lack of qualifications required for job entry. Anyone from a high school kid to an ex-convict can make and serve you food. It was, to some degree, how each of my family members got their start in the first place. Nonetheless, a successful manager must create a family-like work environment. In Denny’s case, it was right on our doorstep.

“There was no secret recipe. The difference was the staff.”

Right From time to time, our family will take a moment to celebrate a birthday during the off-hours at work. The following example captures my uncle Celeo moments before blowing his candles, alongside his sisters.

Building a Family Business One by one, each of my mother’s siblings began working at Denny’s. It usually always played out the same, with my mother coercing them into coming in and helping out for a day. The majority of her brothers and sisters had since left the original restaurant in Vienna upon my mother’s transition into a managerial role at Denny’s. Gloria was the first to come in and quickly became a waitress. Interestingly enough, she met her husband within the first week of working at the restaurant. He was a customer with a pick-up line that

won my aunt over in an instant. Celeo and Franklin both came in as cooks shortly after. They both, in time, met their respective partners at Denny’s, who worked as waitresses. In a few years, the restaurant staff was mainly compiled of immediate family members and in-laws. The restaurant quickly turned into a hot commodity in the ensuing years. Not only did the one-time customers of the past return, but now we were taking advantage of the large Latino community in Manassas. To this day, Latinos remain one of our largest customer demographics. There was

no secret recipe. The difference was the staff. Granted, we could reach a more diverse crowd, but our dedication to consistently giving good service and food is what brought customers back. My mother’s ideals carried a different weight to her brothers and sisters. They knew her struggle and sacrifice. It was only natural for them to follow her lead. Our family took pride in treating Denny’s as if we owned it. We never looked back in the two decades that followed, and now the restaurant is one of the highest earners for the company, a feat that we as a family can be proud to share. 43

Daily Routine My mother’s routine begins each morning around 6:00 a.m., in which she arrives to work at Denny’s. The restaurant is quiet and empty, with only a few customers frequenting in and out. By this point, the late-night shift has all gone home, and either one of my aunts is working tables in the front. The early hours are the ideal times to inspect food temperatures and organize the cash register. By 9:00 a.m., everything is all prepared and ready for the day of business. My mother spends the entirety of her morning in the front end of the restaurant. Her tasks fluctuate depending on the available staff and overall business level. It’s very 44

typical for her to be serving tables at one moment then suddenly running to-go orders and the cash register. The morning shift is by far the most demanding period of the day. The table turnover rate is a high and a neverending cycle. By the mid-afternoon, the restaurant has settled down, and the morning staff begins sidework (a set of restaurant preparations). My mother then moves into the kitchen to cover for the next cook that arrives at 5:00 p.m. Before long the night manager, Franklin, arrives, allowing my mother to unwind and get her first meal of the day. The night shift now commences, and my mother relocates to the office, where

she counts and organizes the morning earnings. Her schedule ends at 7:00 p.m., but she chooses to ignore it instead. The next few hours, she sits at the counter, ready and waiting to help Franklin if things get out of hand. Franklin will often suggest for her to call it a day and go home, to no avail. After the night rush ends, my mother arrives home, at last, to sleep and repeat it all over again. Above (2) The store office is a tiny little corner in the back of the restaurant. My mother briefly spends her time there, but the surrounding environment is a perfect metaphor for the disarray of managing a restaurant. Opposite General managers of Denny’s establishments are expected to wear all job hats. One minute you’re a cook, and the next a waiter. It’s the reality of the job.

Dealing with Tragedy Denny’s is uniquely situated as a restaurant that is open every day of the calendar year, without exception. We’re open on New Year’s Eve, Thanksgiving, and Christmas Day. The restaurant’s biggest revenue days usually fall on one of the major holidays. Christmas, in particular, is the restaurant’s busiest day, both in terms of business and revenue. Above New stations occupied the restaurant parking lot for two weeks, eventually cornering my mother into an impromptu interview. Photo: FOX 5 DC

No one is ever quite prepared to handle tragedy, let alone on a holiday of all days. In the near two decades of

working at Denny’s, our family had yet to face what would come next. On the fateful early morning of December 26, 2019, a DoorDash delivery man, Yusuf Ozgur, was shot and killed at the restaurant’s front entrance. Nothing on such a scale of this tragedy had occurred under our management in the two decades that preceded it. Everyone in the restaurant was shell shocked. The restaurant staff had just completed another successful Christmas Day and switched from

morning to late-night shift. Christmas Day is unique in the sense that the morning shift works way beyond the traditional time slot. In this particular case, the majority, if not all, of our family left a little past midnight. The shooting would occur two hours later. Out of respect for the Ozgur family, I’ve chosen to omit the details surrounding the tragic events that occurred on December 26, 2019. However, I would like to take a moment to speak on the man’s character. Yusuf Ozgur frequented Denny’s often during late-night shifts to pick up orders for his job at DoorDash. Christmas Day was no different for him, as he came throughout the day delivering orders for us. There was underlying respect between the delivery drivers and the restaurant staff. Each of us was working hard to make money for our families. Yusuf Ozgur was a loving father who had once himself emigrated from Turkey in the 1970s. In many ways, Yusuf Ozgur exemplifies the themes of America’s Always Open. My mother was sound asleep when she received a call from the police informing her of the events that had just transpired. She headed to Denny’s immediately. The scene was chaotic, but it would fall on her shoulders to

take responsibility for the restaurant and its late-night staff. The tragedy was traumatizing for all parties involved, with a handful of waitresses caught in the middle of it. They were all sent home after talking with the police. Under normal circumstances, the restaurant is cleaned thoroughly after a shift by each position level. The restaurant was a mess, with only my mother left to clean up. Both of my uncles came in to lend a hand, with the trio working into the late afternoon to restore normalcy.

Above Denny’s reopened after a day of closure. Business plummeted, but our routine remained unchanged.

Right The restaurant has taken a variety of precautions, including socially distanced tables, required face masks, and the use of gloves. Opposite What once was a flourishing restaurant now was an empty shell exclusively focusing on carry-out orders.

COVID-19 Following the tragic events that occurred on Christmas Day 2019, the restaurant was subject to the aftermath of scrutinization and distrust. The business was noticeably slower heading into the new year, but it would only mark the beginning of an out-of-the-ordinary year. Denny’s would temporarily close in March of 2020, as the whole world would shut down following the outbreak of COVID-19. The entire staff, barring my mother, was left without a job and caught in the storm of government relief funding. Despite the circumstances, the restaurant continued forward, transitioning to carry-out orders only. An influx of regulars would continue to frequent the restaurant

as a show of support. If there was ever a consolation, tough times brought out the best in the community that our Denny’s location worked so hard to form throughout the years. However, even if business continued forward, there only remained a cook and my mother to cover the restaurant’s entire responsibilities. My mother would take orders, prepare and deliver food, and wash dishes mostly on her own. There was no room to complain, only continue to give good service and food. A pandemic didn’t lessen her resolve to stick to a set of lifelong ideals. My mother’s tenacity has consistently shown itself throughout her long career, which in large part contributed to an enviable position within the

company. Eventually, other family members came in and helped out to ease the weight of her duties. My family members were still unemployed, but that didn’t lessen their resolve to support my mother in dire times. The take-away message is that our experiences at Denny’s invariably united us, and in turn, allowed us to be closer as a family. In September 2020, the restaurant allowed customers to eat inside in a limited capacity. Each of my mother’s brothers and sisters got their jobs back at Denny’s, along with the return of many of our customers. There is still much uncertainty for the future. COVID-19 is still an ongoing situation; however, we always remain open and willing to serve our customers. 49

CAN I TAKE YOUR ORDER? MY PERSONAL STORY

Finding New Wrinkles Denny’s played a significant role in my development, as it did for my uncles and aunts. I’ve spent more than half of my life working alongside my family. In order to understand how Denny’s reshaped my life and led the way to educational success, we must go back to the beginning. Our move to a bigger home in 2002 also coincided with my mother’s new job at Denny’s. The living circumstances were not all that different than they were during the McDonald’s days. My mother was working every day, from dusk to dawn. It meant that I had no 50

other place to go other than Denny’s after I got off school. I recall one occasion where I was left stranded at school, only for the principal to personally deliver me to my mother at Denny’s. My mother was engrossed at work. Granted, that was as extreme as it got. I spent many days sitting at the restaurant’s counter, quietly waiting for my mother to pick up her bags and signal us to depart from the back door. More agonizing than the next, each instance tested my patience and capacity to find new wrinkles in the mundane Denny’s experience.

Befriending Customers The restaurant had little for entertainment beyond the toy crane machine, which I frequented early and often. The toy crane machine’s allure loses a bit of its intrigue after you win a certain number of times. My attention, in due course, turned to the customers themselves. I’d begin to recognize specific repeat customers and consequently befriended them.

until that point, and our foreign roots didn’t necessitate the importance of American history within a family discourse. Mr. Hunter had a wonderful way of involving a curious young child in the dramatic events of his long life. I remember his large smile and the accompanying hot fudge sundae that stood between us. He would end up passing away shortly after I met him.

Mr. Hunter would frequent Denny’s with his son in the early evenings as I arrived from school. He was, as we would call, a regular. He was youthful for his old age and filled with stories during his time as a soldier in World War II. I was uneducated on the war

My relationship with Mr. Hunter represented a wealth of opportunity that the Denny’s environment enabled. I hardly ever interacted with white men outside of school. My family’s friends walked, dressed, and spoke like us. It was a particular issue

within many of the growing Latino communities living in the United States. There was a trepidation to interact with others outside the Latino bubble, whether it was fear or a lack of familiarity. Throughout the years, multiple customers have shown similar acts of kindness, as epitomized best by Mr. Hunter. From free rides home to providing college guide books. I got it all from all sorts of people. Above (2) All these years later, Mr. Hunter’s handwritten note speaks volumes of his optimism towards America’s future generation of citizens. Opposite Back then, I didn’t realize the sheer importance of the U.S. flag and the sacrifice spilled over it.

12 Year Old Host

Above I grew familiar with the task of handling money at a young age. The job consequently only strengthened my desire to make some myself. Opposite The cash register is the first thing customers are greeted to as they enter the establishment. Most of the things surrounding the register are bins, office supplies, and a counterfeit detector.

As a child, I often didn’t receive any of the high-priced items that I so coveted. I was forced to settle with what I was lucky to get. Money didn’t grow on trees, so my mom said. It was then understandable why a 12-year-old was so eager to respond to the proposal of a paying job. What could be so difficult about it? I was sure to have it easy since the boss is my very own mother. Saving up for a new gaming console, or whatever else a 12-year-old would want, was all that mattered. My

miscalculation was the expectation that the earned money would reach the sight of a 12-year-old’s wide-eyed desires. The money instead went towards my future, a trust fund, to be exact. It didn’t take long before I grew to regret my decision to start working at Denny’s. I am joking, of course, but I do recall being very angry at the time. The very first role that I took was that of a host. A host in itself would encompass greeting all incoming

customers, then guiding each party towards an available table. That’s simple enough. I worked on Saturday and Sunday mornings, considered by most to be the busiest time of the week. Everybody who was considered a regular came around this time, in addition to people who were simply passing by. The restaurant couldn’t accommodate everyone, so there was a line funneling out the door. As hosts, we were tasked to keep track of each party waiting, even those standing

outside the door. The job wasn’t difficult, but it felt lifeless. I didn’t enjoy standing around for hours on end, writing names, and being stared at by a swarm of people. Eventually, I was promoted from host to cashier. I enjoyed being a cashier as opposed to that of a host. It was my very first experience handling large sums of money over a short period of time. Nevertheless, there was a larger sense of responsibility in making

sure I didn’t hand any more or less of what was owed back to the customer. There wasn’t any room to slack off— quite the tall order for a 12-year-old. I also got to speak to customers more intimately beyond the rudimentary hello; conversations usually led to why I was even working in the first place. People found it unusual to see such a young face handling their hard-earned money. Even coworkers outside my immediate family found the whole ordeal comical. 55

Refill the Coffee I would eventually be promoted at the age of 15 after a few years of working exclusively in the restaurant’s front area. By all accounts, it happened out of necessity rather than a deliberate choice. I was tasked to take care of the customers at the counter during a day in which the restaurant was understaffed. It was sudden. I didn’t know how to properly handle a customer’s order, let alone give good service. The counter customers were a bit of a different breed, usually an older crowd of blue-collared workers looking for a quick bite and a coffee. The long days sitting at the counter that dominated my early days at Denny’s served as an excellent foundation for what was to come. Bring the coffee. Order the food. Refill the coffee. Bring the food. Rinse and repeat. The counter crowd was not a demanding crowd to please, and they only cared about a constant flow of coffee and a person to talk to, either the waiter or the stranger sitting beside them. Naturally, they found it easy to talk to a young child. I won them over in that respect. Perhaps growing up in the foodservice industry played a part in my gift to gab. I wound up racking up a total of $70 in tips on that impromptu day.

Opposite Coffee is singlehandedly our most ordered item, besides pancakes. One of the first things any good Denny’s server must have in their arsenal is a telepathic intuition whenever a cup is empty. No cup can stay empty.

“It wasn’t easy, but we succeeded.”

The Payoff Being a waiter came to be a natural fit for me. The work was fast-paced and required a higher sense of intuition. I spent each of my summers working full-time as a waiter at Denny’s. The money was immeasurable for a child my age. By the age of 17, I had opened my very own bank account and saved $7,000 from all the collected tips. I didn’t know how to handle all that money properly; to be fair, I was only a naive high school student. At the end of each summer, I would transition to

working on the weekends as I returned to classes. The following schedule went on throughout high school, and by the end of it, I had saved enough money to help pay for college. From an early age, I understood that my family worked hard for every penny they made. Denny’s wasn’t a glamourous place to work at, but it was a job they all took pride in building up. My mother always said that she wished for me to live an easier life

than her. My role at Denny’s put my mother’s decisions and sacrifices in perspective, allowing me to be closer with her. She spent the entirety of her adulthood working tirelessly to have enough money to maintain us as a family while saving for my college fund. It wasn’t easy, but we succeeded.

Above My mother & I spend the majority of our time together at Denny’s. She is technically my boss, but you wouldn’t know it.

BEHIND THE COUNTER

A LOOK TOWARDS THE FUTURE OF THE FAMILY

The Future Until this point, my family story has encapsulated the journey of reaching the United States, and consequently, how each of us maintained an existence through the foodservice industry. The tough times were evident, but we still managed to find joy as we pressed on. Growing up in a large household was an engrossing experience, with something always going on. It never dawned on me that it was unusual to live with that many uncles and aunts. They were all an extension of a parent in my eyes, and perhaps each saw it the same way too. My mother’s siblings were all looking forward to being parents, and I served as a trial-run towards their future children. Later on, as we all wound up working together at 60

Denny’s, our close-knit family was on full display for the world to see. Customers seem to always marvel at the fact that each of us was part of a big family. I never considered how good we had to remain in each other’s lives despite the world’s uncertainty. The foodservice industry kept us close and involved in one another’s best interests. It also led to my uncles and aunts meeting their respective partners. Denny’s imprint on our lives transitioned from economic gain to a source of happiness. Eventually, it wasn’t enough to survive in the United States, but instead, to build and grow an even more prominent family. Today we’ve planted deep roots in America, with multiple first-generation American children joining the fray.

Conclusion The American experience is what you make of it. It’s been 30 years since our family first crossed the Mexico–U.S. border. The expectation of what would follow far eclipsed anything a young group of Honduran siblings would ever imagine. As I lay forth this book to the world, I will be the first in our family to earn a bachelor’s degree in the United States. The achievement in itself far outreaches my effort; instead, it dates back to each of my family’s sacrifices in a long and winding road towards existence in the United States. I often look at other Latinos in the food industry and wonder what lies beyond the uniform. As a nation, we’ve forgone evident parallels embedded in earlier immigration waves to that of the modern-day immigrant.²⁰ An immigrant today is caught in the storm of a political agenda rather than viewed as a contributing member of the United States.²¹ Instead of observing each and every immigrant as a statistical number, perhaps as a society, we can reconcile with a world that is more sympathetic towards a respectable immigrant identity. Many of my peers fulfill similar roles within their own families—as first-generation Americans etching a path for the next group of kids. The responsibility is of utmost importance, as we should strive to maintain the humility of our roots and the bravado to desire more for ourselves. Regardless of our ethnicity, upbringing, and transportation method—the United States can be your home. In our family’s case, America was always open.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Images Page 12 Moore, John. “U.S. Conducts Aerial Patrols Of U.S.-Mexico Border.” Getty Images, 9 Dec. 2010, www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/ group-of-young-men-walk-along-the-mexican-side-of-the-u-s-newsphoto/107497219. Page 15 Morse, Ralph. “United Fruit Company Workers Go on Strike.” All That's Interesting, 12 Feb. 2018, allthatsinteresting.com/banana-wars#22. Page 15 “Sandino's Flag. Nicaragua, 1932, 1927 - 1981.” Wikimedia Commons, commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Sandino%27s_Flag._ Nicaragua,_1932,_1927_-_1981_-_NARA_-_532581.tif. Page 23 Cooley, Kevin. “The Sonoran Desert in Arizona, Where Slightly Less than Half of All Migrant Deaths Occur, Trying to Make Their Way to the United States.” The New York Times, 22 Nov. 2020, www.nytimes.com/2020/08/18/ magazine/border-crossing.html. Page 24 Motlagh, Jason. “Central American Migrants Steal Shade Outside a Shelter in Sonoyta. Migrants Who Can’t Afford to Hire a Guide across the Desert Sometimes Mule Drugs for the Cartels, Who Control the Border on the Mexican Side.” RollingStone, 30 Sept. 2019, www.rollingstone.com/politics/ politics-features/border-crisis-arizona-sonoran-desert-882613/. Page 45 “Family Friend of Man Murdered in Manassas Denny's Robbery Speaks.” FOX 5 DC, 2 Jan. 2020, www.fox5dc.com/news/family-friend-of-manmurdered-in-manassas-dennys-robbery-speaks.

Citations 1. Franklin, Benjamin, and Leon Reid. Franklin’s Autobiography(Eclectic English Classics). American Book Company, 2011. 2. Powell, Jim. “Benjamin Franklin: The Man Who Invented the American Dream.” Foundation for Economic Education, Foundation for Economic Education, 1 Apr. 1997, fee.org/articles/benjamin-franklinthe-man-who-invented-the-american-dream. 3. Scorza, Jason. “Global Education and the ‘American Dream.” University World News, University World News, 30 May 2014, www.universityworldnews.com/post. php?story=20140529110744340#:%7E:text=Many%20criticisms%20 of%20the%20American,is%20overly%20materialistic%20and%20 consumeristic. 4. Doidge, Scott. “Friday Essay: The Politics of the US Family Sitcom, and Why Roseanne Rocks.” The Conversation, The Conversation, 19 Apr. 2018, theconversation.com/friday-essay-the-politics-of-the-usfamily- sitcom-and-why-roseanne-rocks-95208. 5. Cohn, D’Vera, Jeffrey Passel, and Ana Gonzalez-Barrera. “1. Recent Trends in Northern Triangle Immigration.” Pew Research Center’s Hispanic Trends Project, 7 Dec. 2017, www.pewresearch.org/ hispanic/2017/12/07/recent-trends-in-northern-triangle-immigration. 6. Chomsky, Aviva. “Immigrants Only Come Here Because They Want to Enjoy Our Higher Standard of Living.” “They Take Our Jobs!”: And 20 Other Myths About Immigration, Expanded Edition (Myths Made in America), Expanded, Beacon Press, 2018, p. 122. 7. Special to People’s World. “Before Venezuela: The Long History of U.S. Intervention in Latin America.” People’s World, Long View Publishing Co., Inc, 25 Jan. 2019, www.peoplesworld.org/article/beforevenezuela-the-long-history-of-u-s-intervention-in-latin-america. 8. Eschner, Kat. “Where We Got the Term ‘Banana Republic.” Smithsonian Magazine, 18 Jan. 2017, www.smithsonianmag.com/smartnews/where-we-got-term-banana-republic-180961813.

9. Tompson, Jon. “Roatan Fruit Box (Part 2).” Paya The Roatan Lifestyle Magazine, 14 Dec. 2018, payamag.com/2018/12/14/roatanfruit-box-part-2. 10. Jennings, Daniel. “The Banana Wars: Plundering Central America for Fruit.” Market Mad House, Market Mad House, 2 Feb. 2020, marketmadhouse.com/the-banana-wars-plundering-centralamerica-for-fruit. 11. Oliver, Mark. “The Banana Wars: How the U.S. Plundered Central America for Corporations.” All That’s Interesting, All That’s Interesting, 12 Feb. 2018, allthatsinteresting.com/banana-wars. 12. Bodenheimer, Rebecca. “History of the Sandinistas in Nicaragua.” ThoughtCo, Dotdash, 20 Dec. 2019, www.thoughtco.com/sandinistasin-nicaragua-4777781. 13. Fratus, Matt. “A Brief History of the CIA in El Salvador During the 1980s.” Coffee or Die Magazine, Coffee or Die Magazine, 1 July 2020, coffeeordie.com/cia-el-salvador.

18. Srikrishnan, Maya. “The Other Big Reason Why so Many Hondurans Come to the U.S.” Voice of San Diego, Voice of San Diego, 8 July 2019, www.voiceofsandiego.org/topics/news/theother-big-reason-why-so-many-hondurans-come-to-the-u-s. 19. Motlagh, Jason. “With No Better Options Amid Trump’s Border Crackdown, Migrants Are Taking Their Chances With Arizona’s Perilous Sonoran Desert.” RollingStone, Penske Media Corporation, 30 Sept. 2019, www.rollingstone.com/politics/ politics-features/border-crisis-arizona-sonoran-desert-882613. 20. Thompson, Derek. “How Immigration Became so Controversial.” The Atlantic, Atlantic Media Company, 2 Feb. 2018, www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2018/02/whyimmigration-divides/552125. 21. Smith, Noah. “Current Hysteria Has Parallels With Early 20Th Century.” Chicago Tribune, Alden Global Capital, 27 Oct. 2017, www.chicagotribune.com/opinion/commentary/ct-perspecimmigration-history-repeats-1030-20171025-story.html.

14. Fernández, Belén. “The Long, Disturbing Voyage of The ‘U.S.S. Honduras.’” Current Affairs, 29 Aug. 2019, www.currentaffairs. org/2019/08/the-long-disturbing-voyage-of-the-u-s-s-honduras. 15. Allison, Mike. “El Salvador’s Brutal Civil War: What We Still Don’t Know.” Al Jazeera, Al Jazeera Media Network, 1 Mar. 2012, www. aljazeera.com/opinions/2012/3/1/el-salvadors-brutal-civil-war-whatwe-still-dont-know. 16. The Intercept. “A Brief History of U.S. Dirty Wars in Central America That Set the Stage for the Refugee Crisis.” YouTube, uploaded by The Intercept, 2 Dec. 2018, www.youtube.com/watch?v=HBJpykHbbYI. 17. Nevins, Joseph. “How US Policy in Honduras Set the Stage for Today’s Migration.” The Conversation, The Conversation U.S, 25 Oct. 2018, theconversation.com/how-us-policy-in-honduras-set-the-stage-fortodays-migration-65935. 71

America’s Always Open

Articles inside

BIBLIOGRAPHY

CONCLUSION

BEHIND THE COUNTER

CAN I TAKE YOUR ORDER?

ALWAYS OPEN 24/7

BUILD YOUR OWN SLAM

HOW MANY IN YOUR PARTY?

ALL-AMERICAN EFFECT

PREFACE