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That soon may be changing thanks to a new documentary film airing this August on public television.

Filmmaker Hector Galan has spent nearly 20 years documenting Latino stories for public television, including such PBS works as The Hunt for Pancho Villa, The Forgotten Americans, Chicano, the Mexican American Civil Rights Movement, and Songs of the Homeland.

His latest film, Accordion Dreams, documents the history of this instrument and the role it plays in the development of Texas' most prominent working-class music throughout most of the 20th century.

So for all the people who really don't understand how it is that Mexicanos and Mexican-Americans in the Southwest ended up playing accordions of all things, give us that history.

Well, you know, it's a little cloudy, the history in terms of the actual accordion when it came to the United States. If you look at studies in Mexico, for instance, they claim that it came to Texas around New Braunfels area first.

Other scholars feel or state that the accordion came to Monterrey in Mexico first.

So there's that people really don't know where the German button accordion first arrived. But the fact is, it's the German button accordion, the diatonic accordion that has maintained.

The first accordions that came were, of course, the one row sort of primitive accordions. And people were playing oompas and polkas and a lot of this lively music that the people embraced and slowly became incorporating that music into their own.

And what I found fascinating was to see these kids in your documentary who are playing the accordion, a la Jimi Hendrix. [laughter]

It's young people like those are maintaining the traditions of Valerio Longoria started. Some of the pioneers that created new forms of playing the accordion are innovators like Paulino Bernal and some of these great accordion players. They are maintaining those traditions.

He was born poor in Chihuahua of a Mexican mother and Irish father and became an actor who was often cast in the role of the foreigner, the other.

Listen to some of the names of the characters he played.

Manolo de Palma, Chief Crazy Horse, Eufemio Zapata, Attila, Quasimodo, and of course, Zorba.

He won two Oscars for Best Supporting Actor, one for Viva Zapata and the other for Lust for Life.

Later in his life, Anthony Quinn continued to make film and television appearances, but his creative endeavors turned mainly to painting and books.

His second autobiography, One Man Tango, was published in 1995.

So was it when you went to Italy that you feel that things changed? You had been typecast in Hollywood for so long as a pirate or an Indian chief, for example. When did the roles that you were able to play begin to change for you?

Right after I made La Strada, everything changed.

I became, forgive me because I don't believe in it, but I mean I don't believe it happened. I became what they call an international star at that time. And things changed for me then.

And then I had won the Academy Award for Viva Zapata. So that changed my life to a great extent.

But the biggest, interesting enough, the biggest hit I ever made was in Mohammed, which was not shown in America for political reasons.

And another picture I made called Lion of the Desert, which was about an Arab Omar Mukhtar, who was the hero of all the Arab people in the world. And so I have 750 million fans in the Arab countries.

You know, reading your book, One Man Tango, there's really a sense that you are, at this point of your life, dealing with issues of spirituality, of what the world means, what the world means to you.

My name is Quique Aviles and I'm a poet and performer from Washington DC and this poem is called Border Crossing Chicken.

The chicken crossed the border to taste some Kentucky Fried chicken. The chicken crossed the border to meet Frank Purdue.

The chicken crossed cause the other side wanted to play a quick game of chicken.

The chicken crossed wanting to meet the gay lobby and shake hands with feminist hands.

The chicken crossed to sign a bilateral bilingual bisexual chicken free trade agreement.

The chicken crossed to look into American chicken deportation methodology.

The chicken crossed to deliver a spanish-speaking pizza. The chicken crossed to be a contestant in Miss Chicken USA.

The chicken crossed to fall in love with a new-age rooster guru.

The chicken crossed to lambada with Californian chicks. The chicken crossed for four years of studies at Chicken MIT.

The chicken crossed to learn Black chicken slang. The chicken crossed out of curiosity, wonder and need.

The chickens simply wanted to get a chance to meet the other chicken. The chicken simply wanted to look you in the eyes.

The bilingual film chronicles the struggle of immigrants to form a union in Southern California during the 1990s.

Laverty convinced director Ken Loach there was a film in the story of the janitors and he began poking around the union where he ran into organizer Jono Shaffer.

But over time he, you know, sort of wore on me. He said he was making a movie. I was like, yeah, right, everybody in L.A. is going to make a movie. You know, it's like this will end up in some trash can somewhere.

Shaffer, who bears a resemblance to the film's organizer, says Laverty and Ken Loach took some artistic license, making the work of the organizer a little more reckless and spontaneous than it is in real life.

But he says they didn't exaggerate the difficulty of organizing a union in the United States.

Real life janitor Dolores Sanchez says she saw a lot of herself and her co-workers in Bread and Roses.

It doesn't have Tom Cruise or Mel Gibson, it doesn't have a lot of action, it's got a political bent to it about union organizing and those just aren't easy things. It's not a popcorn, bubble gum kind of movie.

The film was made independently, backed by a group of investors from Europe, but says Ortenberg he hopes it's successful enough at the box office to convince Hollywood to take on similar projects.

Bread and Roses debuts June 1st in 15 to 18 cities across the country with more to follow in the coming weeks.

I see the work of the Teatro as being a Chicano Latino theater company over the years, but it's been more than that. It's been a cultural institution. I think we've had an impact not just as a theater company, but as a mover, a mover and a shaker.

I'm Maria Martin. For more than 35 years now, the theater company El Teatro Campesino has brought the Chicano and Latino experience to the American stage.

Once a ragtag troupe performing in the great fields of California, it staged the back of a flatbed truck. El Teatro Campesino has made its mark from movies to Broadway, training a now veteran generation of Latino actors and directors and influencing a new generation.

Like most days, it's busy at the old packing shed that Teatro Campesino converted to its theater and headquarters. Kinan and Anahuac Valdez, both young directors, actors and filmmakers, are busy rehearsing a new play.

And in the Teatro's recording studio, their uncle, singer, composer and actor Daniel Valdez, is recording the soundtrack of the Teatro's annual miracle play, The Virgen of Tepeyac.

Many of those who will act in this play this year have done so countless times before. Some 10, 20 or even 30 years. Like the Teatro Campesino itself, it's become a tradition, an expression of community and familia.

At that time, I was aware that the problem with trying to be a Chicano playwright in America was that there was no such thing as Hispanic theater in America.

There was community Hispanic theater, but professional Hispanic theater in America was almost nonexistent.

So I saw it as a challenge, you know. Here's a challenge to try to fill this gap, this hole, this enormous vacuity.

Teatro's early performances were simple, agitprop pieces. Valdez called them actos.

Bilingual, one-act skits using broad characters. The grower, el patroncito. The strikers, los huelguistas. And los esquirolaes, the scabs.

In those days, there were no sets, no costumes. The actors wore signs around their necks with their characters' names. The stage was the back of a flatbed truck. It was, says Valdez, our own brand of commedia dell'arte.

So back when we started, it was basically an empty plane. And I knew that as a playwright. Here I was a playwright without an audience, a playwright without a theater that could produce my works, a playwright without actors, Latino actors that could do my roles.

So I had to begin to write to my reality. And so agitprop and the acto level, and later the mito and the corrido, was the way that I could survive as a theater artist by not overtaxing, if you will, the preparation of my actors and my audience.

Political theater made perfect sense. It was free. That makes a lot of sense to an audience.

But it was passionate. And it was pointed at an action that they could also participate in. So that allowed our survival.

That led to my being invited to commission to write a play for the Mark Taper Forum.

By that time, the audience in Los Angeles was willing to pay for theater tickets.

So that proved that, oh, Latinos can finally sustain commercial theater. The problem is that there has not been another one since then.

And so Zoot Suit became a symbol of Chicano identity, but also a symbol of American identity. So that's what the play's about.

Four hundred thousand people saw the production of Zoot Suit at the Mark Taper Forum in Los Angeles, where it ran for 46 weeks, with actor Edward James Olmos in the lead role of El Pachuco.

Before I got that phone call, I could not work in this community because there was nothing for me to do. I've been entertaining people since 1961. Here it is, 1978. I had not gained one penny from the American theater. The first paycheck I ever got was from Zoot Suit when I made 250 bucks a week for acting on stage.

Actor Edward James Olmos, star of Stand and Deliver and Miami Vice, recalls he was a furniture mover when he was asked to audition for Zoot Suit and saw a script of the play.

Words never seen printed in my life. Words that I had heard all my life. Words that only could come from the heart and the passion and the understanding of the finest who command the language.

I said, my lord, que le wacha mis trapos, ese?

Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you're about to see is a construct of fact and fantasy. But relax, weigh the facts, and enjoy the pretense.

Our Pachuco realities will only make sense if you grasp their stylization. It was a secret fantasy for Vivato, living in or out of the Pachucada, to put on the Zoot Suit and play the myth. Pues Orale!

This is the fact, the fantasy, the music, the myth, the magic, the movie. Zoot Suit. Universal Pictures presents Zoot Suit, an American Original.

Seven years went by between the release of the film of Zoot Suit and Valdez's second film, La Bamba.

La Bamba, the story of 1950s singer Ricardo Valenzuela, better known as Ritchie Valens, grossed 55 million dollars in the United States, 90 million worldwide.

What makes America great is that it is dynamic, and what makes any theater great or dynamic is the audience.

And in order to ensure that, and some movies have made over 50 million on their first weekend, in order to ensure that they have to pack films with movie stars with a lot of flash, a lot of stuff that is really aimed at the target audience, in most cases the largest audience is the 17 to 25.

So a film has to cater to those tastes, meaning action, meaning male action oriented films. And occasionally they allow themselves, these investors in studios to gamble with an unusual project. Occasionally a surprise comes along and a sleeper becomes a big hit. But there are limits. Nothing can compete with the big blockbusters.

Though Luis Valdez is widely considered a pioneer, he himself doesn't consider his work nearly done yet. Last year, Valdez premiered a new original play, The Mummified Deer. Zoot Suit had a successful revival in Chicago. And in the long term, a number of important film projects remain on El Teatro Campesino's horizon.

Well, I have the movie on Cesar Chavez, you know, that I'm struggling. That's another protracted struggle. But for all the reasons that made Cesar who he was, this is another film that is a long time struggle. Maybe just because I've chosen, you know, this life of struggle that happens this way. But there's a lot of truth in it that California is not ready to acknowledge yet.

And I will continue to work with the family, with United Farm Workers, and with Hollywood in order to make that a reality. So the ultimate result though, and I know Dolores Huerta feels this way, is that maybe what that project is, is an independent film. You know, unrestrained by any corporate pressures. And I think probably Cesar would have appreciated that more.

Poor, you know, in the sense that they won't have a huge budget, but it will be a labor of love and a labor of commitment, a political and social commitment, human commitment, which I think really explains who Cesar was. So maybe that's the way it'll get done.

And don't be surprised if it comes out of this packing shed, because this is a very natural place for it to come out of. And really just looking at it, it's very difficult to take Cesar and to try to put him through the sieve of Hollywood. You know, it somehow doesn't work. And I think he knew that. He knew that for 10 years, the last 10 years of his life, when I was talking to him about this. He resisted the notion. He didn't want a Hollywood movie about him. He hated that stuff.

And I understand. I understand exactly what he meant. And so maybe it'll get done that way. Maybe it'll get done by somebody else. You know what I'm saying? But at least I will have carried the ball this far.

And I have written seven drafts of the Cesar Chavez story, some major drafts that deal with the history of the farm workers from my perspective and my experience in it. I was six years old when I met Cesar Chavez. And he was a pachuco. He was a zoot suiter who ran with one of my cousins.

So you see, what it comes to is the fact that really I'm talking about a member of my own family here. And that's the best way. This is the way I feel about it. So I'll try my best. And we shall proceed and persevere.

Susana Trilling is a chef and former restaurateur from the U.S. now living in Oaxaca, Mexico.

She offers cooking classes at her school, Seasons of the Heart, and also teaches across the United States.

Latino USA caught up with Susana Trilling in Austin, Texas at Manuel's Restaurant, where she shared with us her recipe for ensalada de nopales asados, grilled nopales salad.

Let's just do the ensalada nopal.

Okay so you take a cactus and you clean the spines off.

And when you have the whole petals, you wash them well.

And then you grill them in a cast iron frying pan or on a griddle or a comal.

And then you cut them up in little pieces, cut up some tomato, some green onions, some cilantro.

And then you roast some garlic and chop that up fine.

You mix that all together.

And then in a molcajete, you grind up some star anise, maybe one star, and then about half a cup of vinegar, half a cup of olive oil, and the juice of two limes.

And you mix that in and then you cut up some avocado and you fold that in.

And that's called ensalada de nopal asado. It's really good for you.

And in case you didn't catch all of that the first time, here's the recipe.

One pound of fresh nopales, nine garlic cloves, a quarter pound of tomatoes, three cebollitas, or green onions, two avocados, half a cup of chopped cilantro, or coriander, one star of anise, ground, a third of a cup of red wine vinegar, two tablespoons of lime juice, salt and pepper to taste.

I serve them on totopos or like tortillas that are baked in the oven with a little bit of queso fresco on top.

Susana Trilling is author of the book Seasons of My Heart, A Culinary Journey Through Oaxaca, Mexico.

The recipe for Ensalada de Nopales Asados can also be found on our website at latinousa.org.

[Music] In Old New Mexico, way before the advent of the railroad, candle flames danced in tin sconces on white plaster walls. Tin flames lit the faces of Christian saints. Tin crosses led processions of worship.

In those days, traders brought in small tin items. Then in the mid-1800s, the railroads began to haul in large sheets of tin. It became plentiful for the first time, inspiring the golden days of tin making for the next 75 years.

Sadly, we don't know much about tin's history. Few artists signed their work, and much of it has been lost. But today, tin making is popular once again in New Mexico.

Reporter Deborah Begel dropped in on a tin making class at the public library in the northern New Mexico town of El Rito.

There's two ways of making the tin. One is the way we learned here, where you do each little indentation into the tin on your own by doing each one individually, while nowadays they're making that with machines. But I think it's more unique when you take the time and make your own piece.

If you're going to make it into a nightlight, you're going to need a very pointy tip. We have different ones here, and yours is going to be a nightlight, right?

Elaine Archuleta started taking tin making classes and found she couldn't stop. She stayed for three semesters. Now she's teaching her first class at the El Rito Public Library. She explains each step to students one on one. I lean in close to catch her soft voice.

You don't want your holes too close, but you don't want them too far. So you can keep that distance away from each one of them and go all the way around your piece and see how it works.

Tin work in our community hasn't been around lately these last years, but the thing about it is that it's been done many years before, and I think it's great that we can introduce it back into the young kids and keep it going for the years to come.

When it comes to designs, Archuleta encourages people to be adventurous. For inspiration in her work, she likes to look at quilting patterns.

Start stamping out any design that you want. Create your own. Do you have a plan? Let's see. You know, it's just mostly design and shapes. It's easy on you, especially as a beginner.

What you're going to do is draw the line all the way around your image, okay, and keep it a certain distance away from the edge.

I made a nightlight shaped like a fish in a neat little frame for the last picture I took of my dearest dog, Annie. As the class drew to a close, I grew anxious to get home to hang the picture and see the light come through the fish.

I wasn't the only one making plans. Get the hole, Elaine. I'm going to hang it. Well, let's finish it. You can make the hole. Let's see if you can do that part, though. Oh, look at that line.

Alex's line may be crooked, but his ornament will look great on the Christmas tree this year.

So then people that were in other disciplines like graphic designers, painters, and then they say, you know, 'I'm working with the image from the border, an image from Tijuana, and I fusioned this in my works. Can I use your music?' Yeah, of course.

For this year's Academy Awards, actor Benicio Del Toro has been nominated as best supporting actor. If he wins, Del Toro would become only the second Latino to win an Oscar in one of the major categories. The only other time that happened was in 1961.

And my father gave me permission to watch this movie about something happening in New York and of course you were there.

You're speaking of West Side Story.

And certainly that moment for me became an incredible moment in recognition. In that someone who had my name existed in this country which of course I previously felt that no one did exist in this country with that name.

My goodness that movie did more things for more Latinos than you can possibly imagine.

Eddie Olmos and Paul Rodriguez both told me that they felt 'Well if she can do it, I can do it.' And it's what encouraged them to pursue a career in our business.

Visible? Oh my dear it took a long time. The fact that I was in movies and television and all that kind of stuff really didn't mean a thing. It's how you perceive how visible you are and I didn't feel that way for many many years.

Sometimes people in Texas marvel at how few others have heard the Tejano Conjunto music that they are so passionate about.

Well, I think Conjunto is an extraordinary music.

It's an exciting music. It's part of our American culture because it is an American music, born here in the United States. But a lot of people don't know that.

And so I'm hoping that through this documentary, people will learn and embrace the music as much as we have here in Texas.

Conjunto or Tejano music, for a long time was kind of seen by younger generations as like old folky music, you know, the stuff that your papas would listen to, but not necessarily something that you as a teenager would listen to.

That's right. It was pretty amazing. So what happened that there's suddenly been this refound or this renewed love for this music among younger Latinos?

Well, I think basically the history of Conjunto music is, especially here in Texas, sort of reflects the history of America.

You know, there was a time when Tejanos, Mexicanos were segregated, you know, in the state.

And for a lot of generations, say in the 40s and 50s and 60s, that music became something associated with something that you were running away from, meaning accordion-based Conjunto music.

For a lot of people who were assimilating into the United States, it represented something that they wanted to get away from.

I think now that we're in, you know, the 2000s, the young people are rediscovering, the music has always been there. It has never died. For a while, people thought it was going to be forgotten. Unfortunately, it has died in some other communities where accordion was real strong.

But it's these young people, the Tejanos, that have re-embraced this sort of as a cultural symbol of music, of an original music. It's sort of an identity that they're re-embracing. And now they're taking it to different limits and they're keeping it and maintaining it.

And it's interesting because they'll listen to accordion music, but then they'll also listen to, you know, American pop or rap and sometimes incorporate it into the accordion music.

Now, when I interviewed Valerio Longoria in your film, Accordion Dreams, you call him the great innovator of Conjunto music. What struck me, and this was in 1985, but what struck me about him was that he was so humble.

And the notion of Conjunto music really being a roots music, a working class music, a real pueblo music.

And I'm wondering, is there a concern as Conjunto music becomes more popular and more commercialized that somehow it might become diluted and lose those roots?

Well, that's always the big question because I think since it is Spanish language-based music, people a lot of times say, well, is it ever going to go mainstream? And I think that's one of the key questions that people had with Tejano music when it was exploding, say in '95, 96, '97.

My feeling is that if it does go mainstream, then of course it loses its uniqueness and its beauty. Fortunately, I was able to meet some of these young people in Accordion Dreams.

It's young people like those are maintaining the traditions of Valerio Longoria started. Some of the pioneers that created new forms of playing the accordion are innovators like Paulino Bernal and some of these great accordion players. They are maintaining those traditions.

Now, yes, they do experiment and dabble in different areas, but that key music is still there. And that's what gives me hope that it will stay and it will be what it is.

So I had to begin to write to my reality. And so agitprop and the acto level, and later the mito and the corrido, was the way that I could survive as a theater artist by not overtaxing, if you will, the preparation of my actors and my audience.

Political theater made perfect sense. It was free. That makes a lot of sense to an audience.

But it was passionate. And it was pointed at an action that they could also participate in. So that allowed our survival.

Poor, you know, in the sense that they won't have a huge budget, but it will be a labor of love and a labor of commitment, a political and social commitment, human commitment, which I think really explains who Cesar was. So maybe that's the way it'll get done.

[Music] In Old New Mexico, way before the advent of the railroad, candle flames danced in tin sconces on white plaster walls. Tin flames lit the faces of Christian saints. Tin crosses led processions of worship.

In those days, traders brought in small tin items. Then in the mid-1800s, the railroads began to haul in large sheets of tin. It became plentiful for the first time, inspiring the golden days of tin making for the next 75 years.

Sadly, we don't know much about tin's history. Few artists signed their work, and much of it has been lost. But today, tin making is popular once again in New Mexico.

There's two ways of making the tin. One is the way we learned here, where you do each little indentation into the tin on your own by doing each one individually, while nowadays they're making that with machines. But I think it's more unique when you take the time and make your own piece.

If you're going to make it into a nightlight, you're going to need a very pointy tip. We have different ones here, and yours is going to be a nightlight, right?

You don't want your holes too close, but you don't want them too far. So you can keep that distance away from each one of them and go all the way around your piece and see how it works.

Tin work in our community hasn't been around lately these last years, but the thing about it is that it's been done many years before, and I think it's great that we can introduce it back into the young kids and keep it going for the years to come.

Start stamping out any design that you want. Create your own. Do you have a plan? Let's see. You know, it's just mostly design and shapes. It's easy on you, especially as a beginner.

What you're going to do is draw the line all the way around your image, okay, and keep it a certain distance away from the edge.

[Music] It's a musical hybrid.

Electrónica meets down-home Mexican music. [Music]

It's also Tijuana and the border.

Actually, it's its own world, a hybrid world where cultures clash and reinvent themselves.

This musical fusion is called Nortec, Norteño and Techno.

Nortec is not only music, but a collective. And with us today on Latino USA is one of its founders, Pepe Mogt.

So how was Nortec created?

We were like making an experiment of using the traditional sounds of the border, which is the Norteño music, Tambora and all these original sounds. The sounds that you commonly hear on the border.

Then I come back to my studio and then I started experimenting with this track. And then I like the result of that.

You know, I'm going to call all my friends that I have that they are doing electronic music.

So I invite them just to create a compilation that doesn't have any name and nothing. It's just, you know, fusion these sounds.

You guys say that the Electronica comes from an inspiration, from a long way back like Kraftwerk and like the original techno-technos.

So there was a radio station and some DJs and some programs, for example, a program called Listen to This and we grew up influenced by those special programs on the night and they put electronic music. So we grew up mostly with that. [Music]

So then people that were in other disciplines like graphic designers, painters, and then they say, you know, 'I'm working with the image from the border, an image from Tijuana, and I fusioned this in my works. Can I use your music?' Yeah, of course.

And then the word spreading out too fast because when the name came out of the compilation, the people start calling us the Nortec Collective or Collectivo Nortec, the Nortec guys, and then even clubs that invite us to play, they say, 'are you going to play your techno stuff or you're going to play Nortec?' You know, like they say, like if it is, you know, some kind of style or whatever. [Laughter] [Music]

Where do you see Nortec going next? I mean, if it's a movement, if it's a multidisciplinary atmosphere and attitude, what comes next then in terms of where Nortec goes?

And even like what we were doing today, like with these people now as Nortec, with fusion, it's happened before with Santana, you know, Santana, which he was mixing the music of their age, you know, of the seventies with all the Mexican stuff that were there, you know.

And earlier than Santana was, you know, like Herb Alpert, you know, fusioning the jazz, the American jazz with all the sounds happening in that moment in Tijuana.

So I think it's always Tijuana has this vibe, you know, the border, the fusion of two cultures, the sounds that are flying around the radio waves and all these television channels, you know, back and forth from the border.

It's like kind of a, that's a way to broke the border, you know.

And Ojala is also the name of a unique duo that combines both Spanish and Middle Eastern influences.

And later on, of course, coming to Texas, I got exposed to Andean and Latin American music. And that was the beginnings of my contact with Javier's culture.

For me, when I arrived in Houston in '78, I used to go to a club named the Acropolis. And I started getting to see Greek bands, Turkish bands, and all sorts of different foreign music. And I got really fascinated by it.

When I moved into Austin, the first band that I got to see that had a Middle Eastern music was 1001 Nights, which is the band that Kamran had in those days.

What's the response that you get, Javier, when it's your version? People say, oh, my God, imposible. Or do they say this is extraordinary?

[Music] What I found interesting was how, for example, in the song Corazon Loco, you've got the very Arabic intonation and yet the singing is in Spanish.

That's right. And what you will find interesting is that that song actually originally was a Persian love song that Javier translated the lyrics into Spanish. [Music]

So I want to know what dreams do you have of pushing this even further? I mean, are you thinking of Arabic salsa or mariachi with Arab lyrics? [laguhter]

Right. Actually, Kamran had somebody talking about it. Why don't we go into something like salsa?

That would be one level. We're actually making it a dance, much more of a dance music. Of course, we don't know where it's going to go. We did this because we really loved to do it. But where it goes, it's God willing.

Sometimes people in Texas marvel at how few others have heard the Tejano Conjunto music that they are so passionate about.

Hector Galan joins us now from Latino USA Studios at KUT in Austin.

And so I'm hoping that through this documentary, people will learn and embrace the music as much as we have here in Texas.

So for all the people who really don't understand how it is that Mexicanos and Mexican-Americans in the Southwest ended up playing accordions of all things, give us that history.

Well, you know, it's a little cloudy, the history in terms of the actual accordion when it came to the United States. If you look at studies in Mexico, for instance, they claim that it came to Texas around New Braunfels area first.

Other scholars feel or state that the accordion came to Monterrey in Mexico first.

Well, I think basically the history of Conjunto music is, especially here in Texas, sort of reflects the history of America.

You know, there was a time when Tejanos, Mexicanos were segregated, you know, in the state.

And for a lot of generations, say in the 40s and 50s and 60s, that music became something associated with something that you were running away from, meaning accordion-based Conjunto music.

For a lot of people who were assimilating into the United States, it represented something that they wanted to get away from.

I think now that we're in, you know, the 2000s, the young people are rediscovering, the music has always been there. It has never died. For a while, people thought it was going to be forgotten. Unfortunately, it has died in some other communities where accordion was real strong.

But it's these young people, the Tejanos, that have re-embraced this sort of as a cultural symbol of music, of an original music. It's sort of an identity that they're re-embracing. And now they're taking it to different limits and they're keeping it and maintaining it.

There are a lot of people who don't realize that you were born in Chihuahua, Mexico.

So was it when you went to Italy that you feel that things changed? You had been typecast in Hollywood for so long as a pirate or an Indian chief, for example. When did the roles that you were able to play begin to change for you?

Well, as you said, I wasn't accepted as an American. I mean, I wasn't accepted as an American, having been brought up in the east of Los Angeles.

Quique Aviles is a Salvadoran born poet based in Washington DC.

The bilingual film chronicles the struggle of immigrants to form a union in Southern California during the 1990s.

The film premiered recently in Los Angeles.

Nearly a decade after he came up with the idea for Bread and Roses, screenwriter Paul Laverty was back in Los Angeles for the film's opening party.

He'd just arrived from his state of Scotland in the early 90s when thousands of janitors, mostly from Mexico and Central America, were beginning to demand better pay and benefits.

I went along and I met the people. I met cleaners who were activists and trade union organizers.

And they were fantastic people. And there was a kind of a spark to them that really got to me, you know, the way they organized and a real depth of human experience.

You know, and there was a determination to organize and change their lives without making a fuss or playing victim.

The first time I met Paul, he sort of appeared and started asking a bunch of questions and I was totally suspicious about who this guy was, you know.

But over time he, you know, sort of wore on me. He said he was making a movie. I was like, yeah, right, everybody in L.A. is going to make a movie. You know, it's like this will end up in some trash can somewhere.

Once a ragtag troupe performing in the great fields of California, it staged the back of a flatbed truck. El Teatro Campesino has made its mark from movies to Broadway, training a now veteran generation of Latino actors and directors and influencing a new generation.

It's full in San Juan Bautista, California, the tranquil California mission town that Teatro Campesino, the farmworker's theater, has called home for over three decades.

El Teatro Campesino is now practically an institution for many Latinos, especially for Mexican-Americans in the Southwest.

To whom it may concern, there is an interest in establishing a bilingual community farm workers theater.

The primary aim of this theater would be to belong to the workers themselves.

It is time the Raza landed the artistic blow it is capable of giving.

Those interested in attending an organizational meeting, please sign below.

The place was Delano, California.

This was the text of a leaflet which announced the formation of a theater troupe quite unlike any before.

It was influenced by La Barraca, the 1930s traveling theater of Spain's Federico García Lorca, by the Mexican burlesque style known as Carpa, and by the work of the German playwright Bertholt Brecht.

But the actual spark that led to the founding of El Teatro Campesino was something known simply as La Huelga, the farm workers movement for social justice.

Now the night that I left San Francisco for Delano, I was talking to this guy from the Free Southern Theater, which was also an inspiration because they were black actors from New York City touring the south in 1964-65.

And I was talking to one of them, a guy by the name of Murray Levy, and he said,

You're going down there to start a theater company? And I said, Yeah, you know. With what? Do you have any money? I said, No. No funding? No. Do you have a board of directors? No. Do you have any actors? No. Do you have any scripts? No.

He says, How are you going to do it? And I said, I don't know. But I'm going to do it.

If you believe in something, it becomes true.

Luis Valdez came from a family of migrants from the San Joaquin Valley.

We're at the Teatro Campesino, the farmworkers theater from Delano, California. And we've come here this evening to tell you the story of our strike, our huelga, and of our union, the United Farm Workers Organizing Committee, AFL-CIO led by Cesar Chavez.

35 years after the Huelga, I spoke with director and Teatro Campesino founder, Luis Valdez, at his theater in San Juan Bautista about the past and the present.

It was very inspiring to walk into the Teatro Campesino here in San Juan Bautista, and there was so much going on, there was so much energy here.

For one reason or another, it didn't happen, has not happened yet. There isn't a single regional-level style theater that relates to Latinos in the state of California.

Zoot Suit told the story of racism against Pachucos in Los Angeles.

Pachucos were young Mexican-Americans who'd adopted the Zoot Suit style of dress during the time of the Second World War.

Four hundred thousand people saw the production of Zoot Suit at the Mark Taper Forum in Los Angeles, where it ran for 46 weeks, with actor Edward James Olmos in the lead role of El Pachuco.

In Hollywood, they call it the Hispanic market. We know it to be simply the presence of millions and millions and millions of people that are attuned to the new realities of the Southwest.

Though Luis Valdez is widely considered a pioneer, he himself doesn't consider his work nearly done yet. Last year, Valdez premiered a new original play, The Mummified Deer. Zoot Suit had a successful revival in Chicago. And in the long term, a number of important film projects remain on El Teatro Campesino's horizon.

Well, I have the movie on Cesar Chavez, you know, that I'm struggling. That's another protracted struggle. But for all the reasons that made Cesar who he was, this is another film that is a long time struggle. Maybe just because I've chosen, you know, this life of struggle that happens this way. But there's a lot of truth in it that California is not ready to acknowledge yet.

Nopal cactus, also known as devil's tongue, may not immediately come to mind when you're looking for something new for lunch. But in Mexico and the southwestern United States, the prickly pear cactus has been cooked and enjoyed for generations.

Susana Trilling is a chef and former restaurateur from the U.S. now living in Oaxaca, Mexico.

Latino USA caught up with Susana Trilling in Austin, Texas at Manuel's Restaurant, where she shared with us her recipe for ensalada de nopales asados, grilled nopales salad.

Susana Trilling is author of the book Seasons of My Heart, A Culinary Journey Through Oaxaca, Mexico.

[Music] In Old New Mexico, way before the advent of the railroad, candle flames danced in tin sconces on white plaster walls. Tin flames lit the faces of Christian saints. Tin crosses led processions of worship.

In those days, traders brought in small tin items. Then in the mid-1800s, the railroads began to haul in large sheets of tin. It became plentiful for the first time, inspiring the golden days of tin making for the next 75 years.

Sadly, we don't know much about tin's history. Few artists signed their work, and much of it has been lost. But today, tin making is popular once again in New Mexico.

Reporter Deborah Begel dropped in on a tin making class at the public library in the northern New Mexico town of El Rito.

Elaine Archuleta started taking tin making classes and found she couldn't stop. She stayed for three semesters. Now she's teaching her first class at the El Rito Public Library. She explains each step to students one on one. I lean in close to catch her soft voice.

Tin work in our community hasn't been around lately these last years, but the thing about it is that it's been done many years before, and I think it's great that we can introduce it back into the young kids and keep it going for the years to come.

It's also Tijuana and the border.

We were like making an experiment of using the traditional sounds of the border, which is the Norteño music, Tambora and all these original sounds. The sounds that you commonly hear on the border.

I went to local studios and grabbed some samples from people that used to play in bars in Tijuana and used to get jobs, you know, in restaurants and even on the streets.

They record demos in cheap studios in Tijuana.

Yeah, the thing is like we live on the border and San Diego is next to Tijuana.

Yeah, people is like when we put in the music, people were in Tijuana, they start recognizing the sounds, you know, the sounds of the border, the sound of the stuba, the sounds they hear on taxis, but now they're hearing on clubs with electronics.

So then people that were in other disciplines like graphic designers, painters, and then they say, you know, 'I'm working with the image from the border, an image from Tijuana, and I fusioned this in my works. Can I use your music?' Yeah, of course.

And earlier than Santana was, you know, like Herb Alpert, you know, fusioning the jazz, the American jazz with all the sounds happening in that moment in Tijuana.

So I think it's always Tijuana has this vibe, you know, the border, the fusion of two cultures, the sounds that are flying around the radio waves and all these television channels, you know, back and forth from the border.

It's something that inspire people and people like us, you know, living in Tijuana, inspired by both sides, you know.

It's like kind of a, that's a way to broke the border, you know.

Mine goes back to, yes, you're right, from childhood in Iran and the exposure that I had to records that came from Latin America to Iran.

And later on, of course, coming to Texas, I got exposed to Andean and Latin American music. And that was the beginnings of my contact with Javier's culture.

For me, when I arrived in Houston in '78, I used to go to a club named the Acropolis. And I started getting to see Greek bands, Turkish bands, and all sorts of different foreign music. And I got really fascinated by it.

When I moved into Austin, the first band that I got to see that had a Middle Eastern music was 1001 Nights, which is the band that Kamran had in those days.

Rita Moreno was born Rosita Dolores Alberio in Puerto Rico. She came to the United States with her family in search of new opportunities some 55 years ago.

We're pleased that she joins us from a studio in New York City.

Welcome to Latino USA. You know it's a total pleasure to be speaking with you. You know when I was 10 years old growing up hating my name Maria.

Sometimes people in Texas marvel at how few others have heard the Tejano Conjunto music that they are so passionate about.

[accordion]

I am a good miner. I have a clever nose for the metals. But I beat up the boss and they kicked me out.

As Bread and Roses opens, its heroine, Maya Montenegro, played by Pilar Padilla, survives a dramatic border crossing.

Hi, is Rosa in? Yeah, Hold On. Mami! Que? Hay alguien en la puerta-

Hi, I'm Sam Shapiro, the Justice for Janitors campaign.

I'm Rosa, Justice for Rosa's campaign.

There is every chance you can get fired. I've seen it before. What are you going to do? Pay the rent? Feed my kids?

And you? You better keep away from this nice one. Listen, they will fire anyway!

Si se puede, si se puede, si se puede...

In this scene at a union celebration, the music is provided by Los Jornaleros del Norte, five men who haven't quit their real life day jobs.

They're members of L.A.'s day laborers union and they play their topical songs at labor and immigrant rights events.

[Music]

[Music]

Where's our warm-up coach? I'm just, I'm getting everybody. Do you want any more people?

[Singing]

Teatro Campesino is corazón de la gente. It's what our soul is about and it touches it.

I've always thought of Teatro Campesino as being the mirror image of us.

There's a lot of theater all over the country, but there's only one, El Teatro Campesino.

To whom it may concern, there is an interest in establishing a bilingual community farm workers theater.

The primary aim of this theater would be to belong to the workers themselves.

It is time the Raza landed the artistic blow it is capable of giving.

Those interested in attending an organizational meeting, please sign below.

[Chanting] Huelga! Huelga!

We're at the Teatro Campesino, the farmworkers theater from Delano, California. And we've come here this evening to tell you the story of our strike, our huelga, and of our union, the United Farm Workers Organizing Committee, AFL-CIO led by Cesar Chavez.

[Singing]

Teatro and the struggle really made a difference for us. Luis was able to get people who had been on strike three months, four months, six months a year to laugh at their own conditions, to look at themselves, and to join with us laughing about the injustices and the growers who were committing those injustices against them.

Teatro had a tremendous impact, and one of the factors why we won that strike, because it gave people the courage and the vision, and also made it possible for them to laugh at themselves during a hard, hard struggle.

[Singing] Campesinos Mexicanos, Americanos de Color, Puerto Rico...

[Singing] Viva la virgen de guadalupe, viva nuestra union!

Words never seen printed in my life. Words that I had heard all my life. Words that only could come from the heart and the passion and the understanding of the finest who command the language.

I said, my lord, que le wacha mis trapos, ese?

Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you're about to see is a construct of fact and fantasy. But relax, weigh the facts, and enjoy the pretense.

Our Pachuco realities will only make sense if you grasp their stylization. It was a secret fantasy for Vivato, living in or out of the Pachucada, to put on the Zoot Suit and play the myth. Pues Orale!

This is the fact, the fantasy, the music, the myth, the magic, the movie. Zoot Suit. Universal Pictures presents Zoot Suit, an American Original.

[Music] Oh, Donna, oh, Donna, oh, Donna, oh, Donna.

[Music]

[Music]

Lots of desert animals would raid it if they could. They can't because cacti, like desert succulents everywhere, defend themselves with spines.

[Music] In Old New Mexico, way before the advent of the railroad, candle flames danced in tin sconces on white plaster walls. Tin flames lit the faces of Christian saints. Tin crosses led processions of worship.

In those days, traders brought in small tin items. Then in the mid-1800s, the railroads began to haul in large sheets of tin. It became plentiful for the first time, inspiring the golden days of tin making for the next 75 years.

Sadly, we don't know much about tin's history. Few artists signed their work, and much of it has been lost. But today, tin making is popular once again in New Mexico.

[Music] It's a musical hybrid.

Electrónica meets down-home Mexican music. [Music]

This is Tijuana. Come in.

This musical fusion is called Nortec, Norteño and Techno.

With us today to talk about this rare mix of language and music are Javier Palacios and Kamran Hooshmand, who perform together as the group Ojala.

[Singing] Cucurrucucú Paloma. Cucurrucucú no llores.

That's right. And what you will find interesting is that that song actually originally was a Persian love song that Javier translated the lyrics into Spanish. [Music]

Gracias a ti.

I like to be in America, okay by me in America, everything free in America. For a small fee in America.

Sometimes people in Texas marvel at how few others have heard the Tejano Conjunto music that they are so passionate about.

That soon may be changing thanks to a new documentary film airing this August on public television.

Filmmaker Hector Galan has spent nearly 20 years documenting Latino stories for public television, including such PBS works as The Hunt for Pancho Villa, The Forgotten Americans, Chicano, the Mexican American Civil Rights Movement, and Songs of the Homeland.

His latest film, Accordion Dreams, documents the history of this instrument and the role it plays in the development of Texas' most prominent working-class music throughout most of the 20th century.

Hector Galan joins us now from Latino USA Studios at KUT in Austin.

So why Conjunto this time, Hector?

Well, I think Conjunto is an extraordinary music.

It's an exciting music. It's part of our American culture because it is an American music, born here in the United States. But a lot of people don't know that.

And so I'm hoping that through this documentary, people will learn and embrace the music as much as we have here in Texas.

So for all the people who really don't understand how it is that Mexicanos and Mexican-Americans in the Southwest ended up playing accordions of all things, give us that history.

Well, you know, it's a little cloudy, the history in terms of the actual accordion when it came to the United States. If you look at studies in Mexico, for instance, they claim that it came to Texas around New Braunfels area first.

Other scholars feel or state that the accordion came to Monterrey in Mexico first.

So there's that people really don't know where the German button accordion first arrived. But the fact is, it's the German button accordion, the diatonic accordion that has maintained.

The first accordions that came were, of course, the one row sort of primitive accordions. And people were playing oompas and polkas and a lot of this lively music that the people embraced and slowly became incorporating that music into their own.

Conjunto or Tejano music, for a long time was kind of seen by younger generations as like old folky music, you know, the stuff that your papas would listen to, but not necessarily something that you as a teenager would listen to.

And what I found fascinating was to see these kids in your documentary who are playing the accordion, a la Jimi Hendrix. [laughter]

That's right. It was pretty amazing. So what happened that there's suddenly been this refound or this renewed love for this music among younger Latinos?

Well, I think basically the history of Conjunto music is, especially here in Texas, sort of reflects the history of America.

You know, there was a time when Tejanos, Mexicanos were segregated, you know, in the state.

And for a lot of generations, say in the 40s and 50s and 60s, that music became something associated with something that you were running away from, meaning accordion-based Conjunto music.

For a lot of people who were assimilating into the United States, it represented something that they wanted to get away from.

I think now that we're in, you know, the 2000s, the young people are rediscovering, the music has always been there. It has never died. For a while, people thought it was going to be forgotten. Unfortunately, it has died in some other communities where accordion was real strong.

But it's these young people, the Tejanos, that have re-embraced this sort of as a cultural symbol of music, of an original music. It's sort of an identity that they're re-embracing. And now they're taking it to different limits and they're keeping it and maintaining it.

And it's interesting because they'll listen to accordion music, but then they'll also listen to, you know, American pop or rap and sometimes incorporate it into the accordion music.

Now, when I interviewed Valerio Longoria in your film, Accordion Dreams, you call him the great innovator of Conjunto music. What struck me, and this was in 1985, but what struck me about him was that he was so humble.

And the notion of Conjunto music really being a roots music, a working class music, a real pueblo music.

And I'm wondering, is there a concern as Conjunto music becomes more popular and more commercialized that somehow it might become diluted and lose those roots?

Well, that's always the big question because I think since it is Spanish language-based music, people a lot of times say, well, is it ever going to go mainstream? And I think that's one of the key questions that people had with Tejano music when it was exploding, say in '95, 96, '97.

My feeling is that if it does go mainstream, then of course it loses its uniqueness and its beauty. Fortunately, I was able to meet some of these young people in Accordion Dreams.

It's young people like those are maintaining the traditions of Valerio Longoria started. Some of the pioneers that created new forms of playing the accordion are innovators like Paulino Bernal and some of these great accordion players. They are maintaining those traditions.

Now, yes, they do experiment and dabble in different areas, but that key music is still there. And that's what gives me hope that it will stay and it will be what it is.

Well, thanks very much for speaking with us. We've been talking with filmmaker, Hector Galan of Galan Productions. His latest documentary, Accordion Dreams, is scheduled to air nationally August 30th on PBS.

Muchas gracias, Hector. Gracias.

And for this week, this has been Latino USA, the radio journal of news and culture.

Thanks for listening. Gracias por escucharnos.

I am a good miner. I have a clever nose for the metals. But I beat up the boss and they kicked me out.

On June 3rd, actor Anthony Quinn died at the age of 86.

He was born poor in Chihuahua of a Mexican mother and Irish father and became an actor who was often cast in the role of the foreigner, the other.

Listen to some of the names of the characters he played.

Manolo de Palma, Chief Crazy Horse, Eufemio Zapata, Attila, Quasimodo, and of course, Zorba.

He won two Oscars for Best Supporting Actor, one for Viva Zapata and the other for Lust for Life.

Later in his life, Anthony Quinn continued to make film and television appearances, but his creative endeavors turned mainly to painting and books.

His second autobiography, One Man Tango, was published in 1995.

I spoke to Anthony Quinn then. Here once again is a part of that conversation.

There are a lot of people who don't realize that you were born in Chihuahua, Mexico.

Well, that's interesting because, I mean, I've never negated it. I've always said, I mean, as a matter of fact, in my early years in Hollywood, I was in trouble.

As you know, there were a lot of racist things going on at that time in the 30s and 40s during the war.

I did negate that I was Mexican, saying that I was Tarahumara, Indian. I really still prefer calling myself Indian-blooded than Mexican.

So was it when you went to Italy that you feel that things changed? You had been typecast in Hollywood for so long as a pirate or an Indian chief, for example. When did the roles that you were able to play begin to change for you?

Right after I made La Strada, everything changed.

I became, forgive me because I don't believe in it, but I mean I don't believe it happened. I became what they call an international star at that time. And things changed for me then.

And then I had won the Academy Award for Viva Zapata. So that changed my life to a great extent.

But the biggest, interesting enough, the biggest hit I ever made was in Mohammed, which was not shown in America for political reasons.

And another picture I made called Lion of the Desert, which was about an Arab Omar Mukhtar, who was the hero of all the Arab people in the world. And so I have 750 million fans in the Arab countries.

You know, reading your book, One Man Tango, there's really a sense that you are, at this point of your life, dealing with issues of spirituality, of what the world means, what the world means to you.

And I'm wondering what it's like, for example, when you say you have 750 million admirers. What does that do to a man? What does that do to a man's soul? What has it done to you?

And what are the issues that you're kind of, that you think you're trying to come to terms with in your book, One Man Tango?

Well, as you said, I wasn't accepted as an American. I mean, I wasn't accepted as an American, having been brought up in the east of Los Angeles.

And the Mexicans wouldn't accept me as being Mexican because I had the name of Quinn, my father being Irish.

v

Because your father fought with Pancho Villa.

Yes, he fought with Pancho Villa, and my mother did too because she was a solidera.

Then I wasn't accepted as an American.

And I mean, Jimmy Cagney and Spencer Tracy tried to get me involved, so did John Wayne, with the Irish people.

But then I felt that if I became involved with the Irish, I would exclude the Mexican.

And I was in between. And so when I went to Italy, I realized I wasn't either. I was neither a Mexican nor an Irishman.

And I'll tell you, very interesting enough, I worked in every nationality there is. So I really feel as a spokesman for the world.

You're a painter now. Now I learned you wanted to be a priest. You were a preacher.

I mean, you have no, there is no constraints on you. There are no and never have been any constraints.

Well, I mean, there were early on put on by the social groups that I had to face. But I think that, no, no, there are no constraints on me. I'm starting my life all over again.

As a matter of fact, I'm moving to another state, a state that I would never think I belonged in, a New England state.

And I'm surrounded by New Englanders who, interestingly enough, that is a strange thing. Because they all are very happy that Quinn is moving in. Quinn the Irish actor, you know.

And they don't know that you're going to invite all the Mexicanos over to have-

Absolutely. They'll be invited to the barbecues over the Mexican tortillas and dancing and so forth.

But I think that I've cased the neighborhood and I really think that they were nice people and they'll accept them.

Actor, artist and writer Anthony Quinn. His new autobiography is One Man Tango and it's published by Harper Collins.

How do you say goodbye in Tarahumara?

Tarahumara, I don't say no, no, no. I don't say goodbye in Tarahumara.

So it's adios?

Adios. Adios amiguita.

Oscar-winning acting legend Anthony Quinn died Sunday, June 3rd. He was 86 years old.

This interview originally aired on Latino USA in 1995.

My name is Quique Aviles and I'm a poet and performer from Washington DC and this poem is called Border Crossing Chicken.

The chicken crossed the border to taste some Kentucky Fried chicken. The chicken crossed the border to meet Frank Purdue.

The chicken crossed cause the other side wanted to play a quick game of chicken.

The chicken crossed wanting to meet the gay lobby and shake hands with feminist hands.

The chicken crossed to sign a bilateral bilingual bisexual chicken free trade agreement.

The chicken crossed to look into American chicken deportation methodology.

The chicken crossed to deliver a spanish-speaking pizza. The chicken crossed to be a contestant in Miss Chicken USA.

The chicken crossed to fall in love with a new-age rooster guru.

The chicken crossed to lambada with Californian chicks. The chicken crossed for four years of studies at Chicken MIT.

The chicken crossed to learn Black chicken slang. The chicken crossed out of curiosity, wonder and need.

The chickens simply wanted to get a chance to meet the other chicken. The chicken simply wanted to look you in the eyes.

Quique Aviles is a Salvadoran born poet based in Washington DC.

As a group, immigrant workers are rarely seen and seldom heard in modern U.S. media.

Beginning June 1st, though, Bread and Roses will be released nationwide.

The bilingual film chronicles the struggle of immigrants to form a union in Southern California during the 1990s.

The film premiered recently in Los Angeles.

Correspondent Robin Yorovich was there and filed this report.

As Bread and Roses opens, its heroine, Maya Montenegro, played by Pilar Padilla, survives a dramatic border crossing.

Once in Los Angeles, she joins her sister, Rosa, played by Elpidia Carrillo, working as a janitor in a downtown high-rise. Soon, a union organizer comes calling.

Hi, I'm Sam Shapiro, the Justice for Janitors campaign.

Maya liked Sam, played by actor Adrien Brody and the idea of the union, but the more hardened and cynical Rosa is not so easily persuaded.

Nearly a decade after he came up with the idea for Bread and Roses, screenwriter Paul Laverty was back in Los Angeles for the film's opening party.

He'd just arrived from his state of Scotland in the early 90s when thousands of janitors, mostly from Mexico and Central America, were beginning to demand better pay and benefits.

I went along and I met the people. I met cleaners who were activists and trade union organizers.

And they were fantastic people. And there was a kind of a spark to them that really got to me, you know, the way they organized and a real depth of human experience.

You know, and there was a determination to organize and change their lives without making a fuss or playing victim.

Laverty convinced director Ken Loach there was a film in the story of the janitors and he began poking around the union where he ran into organizer Jono Shaffer.

The first time I met Paul, he sort of appeared and started asking a bunch of questions and I was totally suspicious about who this guy was, you know.

But over time he, you know, sort of wore on me. He said he was making a movie. I was like, yeah, right, everybody in L.A. is going to make a movie. You know, it's like this will end up in some trash can somewhere.

Shaffer, who bears a resemblance to the film's organizer, says Laverty and Ken Loach took some artistic license, making the work of the organizer a little more reckless and spontaneous than it is in real life.

But he says they didn't exaggerate the difficulty of organizing a union in the United States.

Real life janitor Dolores Sanchez says she saw a lot of herself and her co-workers in Bread and Roses.

I don't know. I cried during the whole movie because it does have several things that those of us from other countries have been through.

For the three and a half years it took to organize the union at her company, Sanchez says she went to work every night fighting her fears of a confrontation with the boss or of losing her job.

During the three and a half years, I'd ask myself, if you lose your job, how are you going to support your kids?

Now Sanchez says the sacrifices of those years are paying off. She couldn't have a much wanted third child until she got family health insurance. Now she's got it and her baby's due late this summer.

Bread and Roses mixes drama and fiction with reality.

Director Ken Loach required the actors to work a shift alongside real life janitors, some of whom also appear in the movie along with other L.A. activists.

In this scene at a union celebration, the music is provided by Los Jornaleros del Norte, five men who haven't quit their real life day jobs.

They're members of L.A.'s day laborers union and they play their topical songs at labor and immigrant rights events.

Bread and Roses has received mostly thumbs up from the critics, but as a business venture, it's a little risky, says its distributor Tom Ortenberg of Lionsgate Films.

The film was made independently, backed by a group of investors from Europe, but says Ortenberg he hopes it's successful enough at the box office to convince Hollywood to take on similar projects.

Bread and Roses debuts June 1st in 15 to 18 cities across the country with more to follow in the coming weeks.

For Latino USA, I'm Robin Yurovich in Los Angeles.

This is Latino USA, the radio journal of news and culture. [Intro Music]

Maria Hinojosa is on assignment, I'm Maria Martin.

On this special edition of our program, we remember farmworker leader Cesar Chavez by recalling 35 years of the theater that grew out of the farmworkers movement, El Teatro Campesino.

Teatro had a tremendous impact because it gave people the courage and the vision and also made it possible for them to laugh at themselves during a hard, hard struggle.

El Teatro Campesino, its past, present and future, in the words of Teatro founder Luis Valdez.

I was six years old when I met Cesar Chavez. He used to come to my house when I was a little kid. He lived on the same street where I was born.

That's coming up on this special edition of Latino USA.

I see the work of the Teatro as being a Chicano Latino theater company over the years, but it's been more than that. It's been a cultural institution. I think we've had an impact not just as a theater company, but as a mover, a mover and a shaker.

I'm Maria Martin. For more than 35 years now, the theater company El Teatro Campesino has brought the Chicano and Latino experience to the American stage.

Once a ragtag troupe performing in the great fields of California, it staged the back of a flatbed truck. El Teatro Campesino has made its mark from movies to Broadway, training a now veteran generation of Latino actors and directors and influencing a new generation.

It's full in San Juan Bautista, California, the tranquil California mission town that Teatro Campesino, the farmworker's theater, has called home for over three decades.

Like most days, it's busy at the old packing shed that Teatro Campesino converted to its theater and headquarters. Kinan and Anahuac Valdez, both young directors, actors and filmmakers, are busy rehearsing a new play.

And in the Teatro's recording studio, their uncle, singer, composer and actor Daniel Valdez, is recording the soundtrack of the Teatro's annual miracle play, The Virgen of Tepeyac.

Many of those who will act in this play this year have done so countless times before. Some 10, 20 or even 30 years. Like the Teatro Campesino itself, it's become a tradition, an expression of community and familia.

El Teatro Campesino is now practically an institution for many Latinos, especially for Mexican-Americans in the Southwest.

That's because El Teatro Campesino, which has produced television programs and motion pictures, and has been the spawning ground for some well-known Latino actors, has its roots in the very beginning of an important historical movement for Latinos, the Chicano movement for social and political recognition.

For the Teatro Campesino, it all started back in 1965.

The place was Delano, California.