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HER WORDS ARE PRESIDENTIAL
Post-Tribune (IN) - June 2, 1996s
Author/Byline: Derrick DePledge, Post-Tribune Washington Writer
After months of doubt over the Clinton administration’s loyalty to affirmative action, the president chose a hot summer day last July to make himself clear:
‘’When we allow people to pit us against one another or spend energy denying opportunity based on our differences, everyone is held back,’’ Clinton told an audience at the National Archives. ‘’But when we give all Americans a chance to develop and use their talents, to be full partners in our common enterprise, then everybody is pushed forward.’’
The inspiration came from Clinton, who saw the pain caused by racial discrimination as a young man in Arkansas. But many of the words were from Carolyn Curiel, a White House speechwriter who grew up one of seven children in a working-class, Latino family in Hammond.
It was no accident that Curiel was chosen as Clinton’s main collaborator for this sensitive address. Her passion for equality and grasp of domestic policy arose from work as a journalist for The Washington Post, The New York Times and ‘’Nightline.’
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As a young girl, she remembers going with her mother, Angelina, to distribute Democratic pamphlets in the blue-collar precincts of Northwest Indiana. Her father, Alejandro, was a steelworker at Inland Steel, which made his daughter eligible for a company scholarship that helped her study radio, television and film at Purdue University.
‘’The unions took care of my Dad. And the Democratic Party took care of the unions. There was a clear progression there for me,’’ said Curiel, whose parents still live in Hammond.
Curiel’s first job in journalism was at United Press International, with stints in Chicago, Washington and Puerto Rico. She also worked as a copy editor at the Post and a foreign editor at the Times before moving to ‘’Nightline’’ as a writer and producer for host Ted Koppel.
Her abrupt career change was made a bit easier after an experience at the White House on election night in 1992.
A friend in the Bush administration invited her over to watch the returns...
IN HALF A CENTURY OF CHANGE, FAMILY REMAINS A CONSTANT
Post-Tribune (IN) - May 9, 1999
Author/Byline: CAROLYN CURIEL
Fifty years ago, the streets of they were mostly marshland and jungle.
A Westminster-style democracy with a Prime Minister now, it was then a colony of Britain, called British Honduras. There was no American ambassadors here. Wood - from logwood to mahogany - was king.
Tucked under the arm of the Yucatan and buffered by Guatemala and the Caribbean Sea, it seemed indeed, as Huxley put it, to be beyond the end of the world.
Fifty years ago, the Calumet Region was a different place, too. The streets rumbled with heavy-fendered tank-like automobiles. The overpass and rush hours had not become the way of life. Subdivisions were unheard of. The post-war boom made steel the undeniable king.
It was steel that brought Alejandro Curiel to Indiana. Born in San Francisco, he had been taken to Mexico as a child, to be raised in a rural town in the mountains. But coming of age, he made his way back to the land of his birth, and speaking no English, headed where friends and relatives told him that with hard work, he could make a good living and even get free English lessons. He came to East Chicago and got a job at Inland Steel.
It was steel that brought Angelina Ortiz and her mother and brothers and sisters to Indiana. Her father, a hearty man from Michoanca, Mexico, had been recruited in El Paso, Texas, to come to Kansas and build the railroad. He delivered my mother with his own hands when a doctor could not be found. Years later, he would die after a botched surgery on his stomach. The doctors offered his wife, my grandmother, a few hundred dollars to go away and forget it, as if that were possible. She decided to leave the sadness and go where her strong sons could earn a better living. They came to Indiana and her sons worked at Inland Steel.
Alejandro met Angelina when his best friend and her brother, Floyd, introduced them.
Alejandro was dapper, strapping and handsome, with a head of thick hair and an easy sense of humor. Angelina had dark eyes, lustrous dark and big hair and perfect teeth that she showed to their best advantage with dark red lipstick. She put Linda Darnell to shame. Angie, as she was called, had an air of seriousness about her. She and Alex, as he was called, complemented each other perfectly.
They married in May 1949, honeymooned in Niagara Falls, and had seven children, naming the eldest son after Alex (as he came to be known) and the eldest girl after the doctor who delivered her, Carolyn Rawlins.
They owned two homes, the first in East Chicago, at 3725 Butternut Street, where the top and bottom floors of the three-story home were always occupied by colorful characters who were usually related in some fashion to Alex.
The second, a brick three-bedroom, was in Hammond. Sometimes, on a whim, he would offer to show visiting relatives or friends of Niagara Falls, as if it were next door to Indiana. More than once, they took him up on the offer, and an all-day and all-night drive would ensue. The impulsive tourists were never disappointed.
Life in the Curiel household - beyond the usual sibling declarations of war of annihilation - was usually quiet. Angie quit her secretarial job in Chicago with her first baby, and devoted herself to home and the children. Alex worked shift work his entire career at Inland, more than 40 years, and even walked to work during a blizzard so he wouldn't miss a day.
They both made sure their children had the best education available, and for grade school, that meant being taught by the nuns. They insisted that the children show some industry and find financial support for higher education, which they did.
They taught their children to respect others and to respect themselves. Every one of their children moved on to good jobs. One even followed Angelina and became a housewife and mother. One is a steelworker and father. Almost all have stayed close to home.
Alex and Angelina rightfully take pride in their family and in the 17 grandchildren who have come along the way.
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