Welcome to Mark A. Salazar's E-Portfolio
My Journey
Former gangster recounts his life by the numbers
At the conclusion of this page, you will find a powerful Power Point that I often use when speaking to young people.
Former gangster recounts his life by the numbers
At the conclusion of this page, you will find a powerful Power Point that I often use when speaking to young people.
Monday, August 7, 2006
Publication: The Pueblo Chieftain
By NICK BONHAM
THE PUEBLO CHIEFTAIN
Five. That's the number of times he was shot by a Pueblo Police officer. Two. That's how many times he died in the hands of medical crews before being saved. Fourteen. The pints of blood used to keep him alive. Eight and a half. Years he spent in prison after pleading guilty to reduced charges of assault and menacing with a deadly weapon.
Zero. Aside from family, that's the number of homies he had when he got out.
Thirty-one-year-old Mark Salazar's life is made up of more than numbers. Add up the experiences of the former Los Carnales gang member, however, and the answer is not as easy as one plus one equals two. Fifteen. Salazar's age when he was jumped into Los Carnales, or The Brothers, a well-known East Side gang of the 1980s and mid-90s.
He joined because at that age, "I had to prove something," he said. "Show that I wouldn't turn on them (the gang). If you asked me then where I was going to be in five or 10 years, it was the penitentiary."
The high school dropout was right. Salazar went to prison and served his time. Once he saw his release from prison as a graduation from the school of hard knocks, Salazar knew there was no turning back. You don't see doctors and lawyers graduate from their universities and then start over, he argues. "I've put my rag down," the tear-drop-tattooed, polite-mannered parolee said. Now he wants to get to young people before they find themselves headed to
prison. "If I thought it (rehabilitation of gang members) was a hopeless cause, I wouldn't be working for the degree I'm working for."
When he was in prison, Salazar was in the Scared Straight program where he talked to young men who already were in trouble with the law. He wants to continue working with that population when he earns a degree in counseling.
"When I used to talk to some of these kids (in prison), I'd ask what the definition of a 'homie' was. When they couldn't answer, I'd throw them a dictionary and asked them to look it up. They couldn't find it. I told them 'because homies don't exist." He added later, "life is a process of self correction. I've learned from my experiences."
After years of following work in places like Amarillo, Texas and Dodge City, Kan., Salazar's parents settled here in 1988. "We always came back to Pueblo," he said. Born in La Junta, Salazar was 14 when he moved here and was headed down a path of crime, drugs and gang banging.
Life changed on the night of July 19, 1995.
Forty. That was the number of ounces in the bottles of beer Salazar and fellow Los Carnales had been drinking at a small party at his house on West 14th Street. One. A punch landed by a fellow gang member that knocked Salazar down in front of his mom. Salazar took this as a grave insult. He
went to his room for his gun. Three. The number of bullets he loaded into his 25-caliber handgun. The weapon always jammed when it was loaded with more than three bullets, Salazar said, so he stuffed ammunition in his pocket and left his room. Two. The number of shots he fired into his friend's chest while he was sitting in a living room chair. Neighbors heard the shots and called police. Salazar went to the back yard to fix the gun, which had jammed again. He fired once more in the back yard and reloaded. His wounded friend crawled out the front of the house. Salazar followed and encountered Pueblo police officer Jason Heflin in the
street. Salazar said he fired one shot in the general direction of the officer before turning to run to the house. He didn't make it.
Heflin's first shot tore through the then-20-year-old's tricep, knocking him to the ground. The bullet rendered his right arm useless and Mark said he was unable
to comply with the officer's demands to throw away his weapon. Salazar was shot four more times. "I could feel the bullets coming into my body, but I couldn't move
my hand." Salazar and the victim, who is two years older than him, recovered from their wounds. The severity of the blow to Salazar's right arm is evident with a handshake.
Prosecutors sought an attempted first-degree murder charge against Salazar, but he pleaded guilty to reduced charges of assault and menacing with a deadly weapon.
Bilingual and out on parole, Salazar is starting life anew. Prior to getting out of prison, he decided to leave Los Carnales. "We have too many people in here (prison)," he realized. Somehow, that fateful and nearly fatal --- "Medical records show I was dead on arrival," he said, adding that he died twice during the rescue, or so has been told --- encounter with police gave Salazar the realization that his life has a purpose. That purpose was not to
return to prison. "I don't see no sense in going down the same road twice," he said. "I graduated from the school of hard knocks. When I was in the joint, I made a decision. We have enough gente (people) in here (prison), we got to do something about it."
Salazar has a steady job and is attending Pueblo Community
College. He wants to become a youth counselor. The Pueblo District Attorney's office has recruited Salazar to take his wealth of experience to local youths, similar to his role in prison. Re-educated by the prison system, Salazar has spent the last eight- plus years learning about the Mexican culture, reading the Bible, among other books, writing letters and reflecting. He's learned that, "if you're going to stand for something, know what it is. I took a stand. If you don't stand for something, you'll
fall for anything. In today's gangs, there's no structure. They're running around like chickens with their heads cut off. "If you're going to take a stand, stand for something worth standing for: family."
One. For the life he has . . . and glad to be living.
--- Juan Espinosa contributed to this story.
Monday, August 7, 2006
Publication: The Pueblo Chieftain
By NICK BONHAM
THE PUEBLO CHIEFTAIN
Five. That's the number of times he was shot by a Pueblo Police officer. Two. That's how many times he died in the hands of medical crews before being saved. Fourteen. The pints of blood used to keep him alive. Eight and a half. Years he spent in prison after pleading guilty to reduced charges of assault and menacing with a deadly weapon.
Zero. Aside from family, that's the number of homies he had when he got out.
Thirty-one-year-old Mark Salazar's life is made up of more than numbers. Add up the experiences of the former Los Carnales gang member, however, and the answer is not as easy as one plus one equals two. Fifteen. Salazar's age when he was jumped into Los Carnales, or The Brothers, a well-known East Side gang of the 1980s and mid-90s.
He joined because at that age, "I had to prove something," he said. "Show that I wouldn't turn on them (the gang). If you asked me then where I was going to be in five or 10 years, it was the penitentiary."
The high school dropout was right. Salazar went to prison and served his time. Once he saw his release from prison as a graduation from the school of hard knocks, Salazar knew there was no turning back. You don't see doctors and lawyers graduate from their universities and then start over, he argues. "I've put my rag down," the tear-drop-tattooed, polite-mannered parolee said. Now he wants to get to young people before they find themselves headed to
prison. "If I thought it (rehabilitation of gang members) was a hopeless cause, I wouldn't be working for the degree I'm working for."
When he was in prison, Salazar was in the Scared Straight program where he talked to young men who already were in trouble with the law. He wants to continue working with that population when he earns a degree in counseling.
"When I used to talk to some of these kids (in prison), I'd ask what the definition of a 'homie' was. When they couldn't answer, I'd throw them a dictionary and asked them to look it up. They couldn't find it. I told them 'because homies don't exist." He added later, "life is a process of self correction. I've learned from my experiences."
After years of following work in places like Amarillo, Texas and Dodge City, Kan., Salazar's parents settled here in 1988. "We always came back to Pueblo," he said. Born in La Junta, Salazar was 14 when he moved here and was headed down a path of crime, drugs and gang banging.
Life changed on the night of July 19, 1995.
Forty. That was the number of ounces in the bottles of beer Salazar and fellow Los Carnales had been drinking at a small party at his house on West 14th Street. One. A punch landed by a fellow gang member that knocked Salazar down in front of his mom. Salazar took this as a grave insult. He
went to his room for his gun. Three. The number of bullets he loaded into his 25-caliber handgun. The weapon always jammed when it was loaded with more than three bullets, Salazar said, so he stuffed ammunition in his pocket and left his room. Two. The number of shots he fired into his friend's chest while he was sitting in a living room chair. Neighbors heard the shots and called police. Salazar went to the back yard to fix the gun, which had jammed again. He fired once more in the back yard and reloaded. His wounded friend crawled out the front of the house. Salazar followed and encountered Pueblo police officer Jason Heflin in the
street. Salazar said he fired one shot in the general direction of the officer before turning to run to the house. He didn't make it.
Heflin's first shot tore through the then-20-year-old's tricep, knocking him to the ground. The bullet rendered his right arm useless and Mark said he was unable
to comply with the officer's demands to throw away his weapon. Salazar was shot four more times. "I could feel the bullets coming into my body, but I couldn't move
my hand." Salazar and the victim, who is two years older than him, recovered from their wounds. The severity of the blow to Salazar's right arm is evident with a handshake.
Prosecutors sought an attempted first-degree murder charge against Salazar, but he pleaded guilty to reduced charges of assault and menacing with a deadly weapon.
Bilingual and out on parole, Salazar is starting life anew. Prior to getting out of prison, he decided to leave Los Carnales. "We have too many people in here (prison)," he realized. Somehow, that fateful and nearly fatal --- "Medical records show I was dead on arrival," he said, adding that he died twice during the rescue, or so has been told --- encounter with police gave Salazar the realization that his life has a purpose. That purpose was not to
return to prison. "I don't see no sense in going down the same road twice," he said. "I graduated from the school of hard knocks. When I was in the joint, I made a decision. We have enough gente (people) in here (prison), we got to do something about it."
Salazar has a steady job and is attending Pueblo Community
College. He wants to become a youth counselor. The Pueblo District Attorney's office has recruited Salazar to take his wealth of experience to local youths, similar to his role in prison. Re-educated by the prison system, Salazar has spent the last eight- plus years learning about the Mexican culture, reading the Bible, among other books, writing letters and reflecting. He's learned that, "if you're going to stand for something, know what it is. I took a stand. If you don't stand for something, you'll
fall for anything. In today's gangs, there's no structure. They're running around like chickens with their heads cut off. "If you're going to take a stand, stand for something worth standing for: family."
One. For the life he has . . . and glad to be living.
--- Juan Espinosa contributed to this story.
Gangs of Pueblo Presentation
