Mario Magaña fondly recalls growing up in Mexico. He’s one of 15 siblings, and though he feels his childhood in Mexico was the best it could be, it came with challenges. He’s worked since he was seven years old in labor-intensive agriculture jobs.
“I had to work seven days a week,” he says. “I didn’t have much to play with, or (to play) with other children.”
Magaña was born in Michoacán, Mexico on January 18, 1963. He grew up in a small village named Los Horcones in Michoacán. The school in his village only offered 1st to 3rd grade. To complete his elementary education, he traveled five miles to receive instruction in a neighboring village, using a combination of walking, biking, and horseback riding.
After finishing elementary school, he wanted to continue his studies but couldn’t. Junior high school was even further away; his parents could not financially support all of their children’s education.
“That moment when they told me I had to stop school was one of the saddest moments of my life because I thought my education was over,” he says.
That didn’t stop Magaña for long: he made the arduous journey to the US in January 1983 when he was 20. With the support of family members who had migrated and settled in the US, Magaña made the move that changed his life.
“I realized I was in a difficult environment to grow my family and started looking for new horizons,” Magaña said. “The first option that came to my mind was migrating to the US to look for work in agriculture in Washington state. The main purpose of coming to the United States was to save money, return to México, and start my own business to improve my family’s home life.”
He remembers the moment he arrived as a sign of new beginnings for himself, not just because he was in a new country pursuing better opportunities. It was winter and cold; he had never touched snow before. That would be the first of many new experiences to come for him.
By 1990 he was married, with two children and one on the way. One day, as he was picking apples, he heard an announcement on the radio.
It was an ad for Washington State University’s General Educational Diploma program. The GED is a set of tests that certifies the test taker has met high-school-level academic skills. Magaña signed up, and his academic promise was recognized while getting his GED. He was encouraged to continue his education at Oregon State University through the College Migrant Assistance Program (CAMP).
Without being able to speak, read, or write in English, in 1991 Magaña was admitted to OSU.
“I started dreaming again about education,” Magaña remembers.
Compared to other aspects of life, college work, and the general university experience weren’t as difficult for Magaña, even with the language barrier. He was used to juggling situations that called for him to be flexible.
As a husband and father to three girls, schoolwork and life had their moments but considering the challenges he had already overcome, pursuing his education was something he had wanted for so long, the difficulty was a welcomed hurdle.
He looked toward nurturing his interest as an undergraduate. He got involved with OSU’s Extension Service 4-H program as an intern. The 4-H program empowers young people to find their path. The program helps them develop leadership skills and how to become impactful members of their communities.
During that internship, his future started to take shape and his goals became clear. He wanted to become a 4-H educator “for the rest of my life,” he says.
With clear eyes and an open heart, Magaña moved toward graduate school, but couldn’t outrun racism.
As one example of the racism he experienced, he recalls how one day the police ticketed him because he was wearing a Mexican sports team cap. He knew arguing would only get him in even more trouble, and he couldn’t risk that, so he resigned himself to accepting the ticket and moving on.
It felt like he needed to hide, silence even, a part of himself. Magaña recalls it was like living “in the shadows,” to avoid police attention.
Some people will make the often-dangerous journey to get to the US, but this does not mean they hang up their culture and who they are at the border, Magaña notes. Still he didn’t want to draw that attention to himself.
He looked toward his OSU and program peers to build his community and create his support system to celebrate his success, culture, and all sides of who he was and wanted to be.
“To avoid tickets, I decided to stop wearing my hat,” Magaña says. “The OSU and CAMP families, faculty, staff, and students became my second family, and they were extremely supportive of my family and my career.”
After completing his master’s degree in 1999 Magaña got a job offer with OSU Extension Service 4-H Program. After several moves in his early career, he was hired at the 4-H State office at OSU’s Corvallis campus in 2006 where he works presently.
Looking to the future now that he is a grandfather, and approaching retirement, Magaña hopes to dedicate the time lost to his daughters and this next chapter of his life to his granddaughters.
Magaña also wishes to leave a strong outreach program as his legacy at OSU.
“I want to create a strong 4-H Outreach Program before I retire,” he says. “I want to fortify and ensure that the program that changed my life and gave me the means to rise above the fray is there for generations to come for those who may need it too.”
However, most importantly, he credits his love for his daughters to his success in life.
“Even before my daughters were born, I already loved them,” Magaña said. “I came to this country influenced by my hopes and dreams to give a better opportunity to my children.”