This is the inspiring tale of a humble Salvadoran campesino who rose from his precarious status as an illegal immigrant in the United States to realize the American Dream and became a millionaire. It is the story of a man who left his small village barefoot, his pockets empty, with only a single change of clothing and a suitcase full of dreams, who reached the pinnacle of success in the world´s greatest economic power. Visítanos: http://www.elsalvadorebooks.com

3. The Possible Dream
CONTENIDO

4. The Possible Dream
PROLOGUE
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER ONE
“GARROTILLO” AND OTHER WORLDS
CHAPTER TWO
THE DEATH THAT CHANGED MY LIFE
CHAPTER THREE
WAVES OF MIGRATION
CHAPTER FOUR
A BRAVE KID
CHAPTER FIVE
MY EARLY TRAVELS
CHAPTER SIX
A NEW STAGE IN SAN SALVADOR
CHAPTER SEVEN
BLOOD ON THE LANDSCAPE
CHAPTER EIGHT
CRAZY LOVE
CHAPTER NINE
AN ADVENTURE INTO THE UNKNOWN
CHAPTER TEN
I’LL NEVER BE BROKEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I RETURN TO THE LAND OF OPPORTUNITIES

5. The Possible Dream
CHAPTER TWELVE
NOW THE WORLD IS MINE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
KATHY, MY WIFE, PARTNER, AND FRIEND
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MY FIRST BUSINESS IS BORN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE AMERICAN DREAM: I WAS RICH!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE GODFATHER OF CHALATENANGO
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A DIRTY CONSPIRACY
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
DOWN BUT NOT OUT
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A GIFT FROM GOD
EPILOGUE
GLOSSARY

6. The Possible Dream
6
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Due to the delicate nature of some of the events narrated
in this book, the names of several people have been
changed.

7. The Possible Dream
PROLOGUE

8. 8
The Possible Dream
I first met José Ramón Barahona almost a
decade ago. At that time he was already the undisputed
leader of the Salvadoran community in Washington,
D.C. Over time I’ve gotten to know him better, not
only as a businessman, but also as a family man and
a human being, who at age sixty is still full of projects
and dreams. I’ve been able to share countless enriching
experiences with him and have discussed his ideas
about the economic and social development of our
beloved El Salvador in great detail. I take this chance
to acknowledge how much I’ve learned from his
philosophy of life, his values, and his principles.
My first real personal contact with José was at a
distinctly intimate and family occasion in early autumn
1997, when along with Kathy, his wife, and their children
Alicia and David; he had a housewarming party at his
new home in Great Falls, Virginia. My first impression
was that his mentality, his way of life, and even his way
of expressing himself, made him seem more American
than Salvadoran. I thought that while he probably still
felt close to El Salvador, he was disconnected from the
present-day economic, social and political life of our
country.
When you read this book you’ll realize that my
first impression was completely mistaken. No doubt
the distance and his almost thirty-year absence from
his beloved land made him appear removed from our
country. What I didn’t know then was that he keeps
himself entirely abreast of everything that happens
in El Salvador, from which he never lost contact.
Furthermore, in the past few years I believe that we
have recovered him permanently. Day by day, José is

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The Possible Dream
more and more one of us. A Salvadoran before all...
and proud of being Salvadoran.
Today the “Chief,” as his admirers affectionately
call him, is one of my best friends. Writing this prologue
to the story of his life, in a book that means so much
to him and that I’m sure will change our vision of the
American Dream, is a true privilege.
What I love about this book is its purity, honesty,
and sincerity. José tells it all. This isn’t one of those
books written to polish someone’s image and do public
relations. Although his story has all the words, images,
achievements and people that have combined to form a
life of triumphs, this biography is not free of it’s share
of vicissitudes. This book, which was written with great
conviction and absolute transparency, tells his story
just as we, his friends, knew it before this book was
published.
In the words of a great novelist, José writes
about what he has lived and lives what he has written.
We must be grateful to him for his bravery in telling us
about his dreams and how he realized them. Whether
in Washington, D.C., San Salvador, San José, Costa
Rica or in his beloved Chalatenango, José shows us in
this book that he has known how to win all the battles
immigrants face. He is an example and role model for
our communities in the United States, their leaders and
their organizations.
José’s story also gives hope to all the young
people of El Salvador. In his mind José delineates
that success is attained by hard work, honesty and
discipline; by a willingness to sacrifice one’s self to the
fullest, to achieve one’s desires, dreams and aspirations.

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Finally that success is realized through preparation and
education. His story proves that fate won’t stand in the
way of those who have these pre-requisites.
A short time ago I had the chance to pause and
reflect on his life while looking at the awards, medals,
citations, honors, photographs and paintings on
display in his brand-new, elegantly appointed office in
Herndon, Virginia.
I was struck by two things: the Medal of Freedom
awarded by the United States Senate, an honor he
shares with Margaret Thatcher, Charlton Heston and
President Ronald Reagan, among others; and a recent
newspaper article that calls him “the Godfather of
Chalatenango” because of the social and humanitarian
work he’s done in the north of the country. At that
moment I understood that, in addition to being a
Salvadoran, José is a man with a universal dimension,
who transcends borders, races, languages, religions,
and economic and social conditions.
He is a man of the countryside in his simple and
natural manner, but is also a visionary and a global
businessman.
My hope is that this book will contribute to him,
being recognized as such in the history of El Salvador,
and that our future generations will benefit from his
legacy.
René León

11. The Possible Dream
INTRODUCTION

12. The Possible Dream
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Carmen Hernández de Barahona woke up at
dawn with her first labor pains. It was August 12, 1944.
She was thirty-five years old with dark skin, a robust
complexion, and a frank expression. Her husband,
Raúl Barahona, barely two years older than his wife,
dressed himself quickly, put on his hat, grabbed his
machete, and took a pot of black coffee sweetened with
cinnamon that his daughter, Lucía, had prepared for
him on the hearth to drink on the road. He headed
uphill to search for Miss Juliana, the midwife. Rain had
fallen all night and the star-filled sky seemed recently
washed. The air was suffused with a strong aroma of
lime grass, jasmine, and forget-me-nots.
On the road, Raúl prayed to God and Saint
Teresa for all to turn out well. It was Carmen’s eighth
childbirth, and this made him all the more concerned.
But Miss Juliana lived nearby and would soon be with
her. He quickly passed by the cobia tree in front of Don
Justo Martínez’s farm, where the flames of candles,
already lit, could be seen. He followed the stone wall
that surrounded Don Chepe Rodríguez’s property,
passed the ravine, and arrived at Miss Juliana’s farm.
Raúl was surprised to find the midwife already waiting
for him with a towel on her head, worn in the style of
a mantilla, with a bag containing the things she would
need to attend the birth.
-“Good morning, Miss Juliana... how did you know it
would be Carmen’s turn today?”
-“It’s not the first time, you know. I’m an old hand at
this and my heart told me last night that Carmen was
going to give birth today. Let’s go quick.”
-“Yes, let’s go”-, Raúl added to end the conversation.

13. The Possible Dream
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When they arrived at the house they found
Carmen wrapped in blankets and drenched in sweat.
Santiago, the oldest of their children, was at her side
wiping her forehead with a warm cloth. Lucía was
warming some food in the kitchen and the youngest
children were wandering around the house, frightened.
Miss Juliana headed immediately to the big bed made
from petate and rope, and took out a small metal box,
scissors, rags in various colors, alcohol, ointments
and pomades in small bottles of various shapes. Lucía
brought her some hot water. Carmen started breathing
more rapidly. Pain etched itself on her face.
Raúl took off his hat and stepped into the hallway.
He sat on a wooden bench that he had built himself and
began to think. It was still dark outside. He clearly
remembered the afternoon when, as a teenager, his
father, a Spanish citizen of Basque origin, took him
to Chalatenango and bought him his first hat. That
afternoon he told his son that he was convinced someone
destined for great things would descend from his blood.
Back then, Raúl didn’t understand what his father
meant. But on that summer dawn, with the roosters
already crowing and the morning birds announcing the
imminent sunrise, he was convinced that his father’s
words were referring to Carmen’s eighth childbirth.
He also remembered the night several years
before, at the wake for Marina Zelaya, when Miss
Juliana, with a cigar in her mouth and a cup of black
coffee in her hand, had told him as she looked off into
the distance, “Look, Raúl, I know what I’m talking
about, this house is going to be washed away by the
waters.”

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At that time the village of Santa Teresa was a
handful of small houses scattered between the Gualeza
River and the majestic Lempa River. Its true name was
Potrerillos, but its inhabitants always preferred to call it
by the name of its patron saint. It was officially named
Santa Teresa around 1971, by legislative decree.
The people of the town were simple, united, and
happy. Most of them farmed their own small parcels of
land. On Sundays they would go to the market in the
village of Potonico or in the city of Chalatenango. They
sold corn, sorghum, beans and rice, and they bought
leather straps for sandals, whetting stones, handles for
sickles and machetes, rennet, hairpins, dulce de laja,
rose water, Bristol almanacs and sugar loaves.
When someone in the village was married,
everyone gathered to build the newlyweds’ house.
On October 14, Saint Teresa’s Day, everyone went to
Mass to listen to Father Antonio’s sermon. On this
special occasion, the priest traveled by mule from the
town of Los Ranchos. Those who didn’t fit inside the
simple church with a single bell tower (which had been
built by the parishioners themselves) stood outside
and listened to the Mass with a devout attitude and a
contrite expression.
After Mass horse races were held, called “de
cinta” or ribbon races, in which young horsemen, full
of skill and daring, competed for prize ribbons as they
tried to win a kiss from the girls who were competing
to be Queen of the feast day. These beautiful girls were
adorned in only a poplin dress, a sash that crossed their
chest and back, a flower in their hair and their God-given
graces.

15. The Possible Dream
15
A few would sneak downhill to Toño García’s
house by the river to drink guaro, a kind of corn
moonshine, with tender jocotillo fruit, salt and lime. At
night, armed with guitars, maracas, conga drums and
guitarrón, the virtuoso violinist Lupe Guandique and
his band of musicians livened up the festive dance in
the one-room schoolhouse.
Raúl saw the first light of day with its tenuous
rose color and purple streaks in the corner of the sky.
The air carried the aroma of coffee, beans and tortillas
from his neighbors’ kitchens. From a distance came
the shouts of campesinos as they drove their herds to
pasture. The darkness was slowly overtaken by the light
and daybreak came. At exactly six o’clock Carmen let
out her last cry of labor and a boy with immense dark
eyes fell into the hands of the midwife, who skillfully
cut the umbilical cord and lay the newborn face-up
to clean him. The infant didn’t cry but rather rested
peacefully and looked with open, already lively eyes at
the beams supporting the ceiling of the house.
-“The baby’s born, but this damned kid doesn’t even cry”-
, the midwife announced to Raúl.
He entered the house, clasped his wife by the
hand, and looked at his eighth child with tenderness.
Drenched in sweat, Carmen smiled while she caressed
the baby’s forehead. A half hour after his birth, the baby
began to cry. He cried for twenty-five minutes, then
latched on to Carmen’s breast and fell asleep.
The Barahonas’ house stood next to the path
that led to the Gualeza River. Seen from a hillside, the
house seemed like an enormous cow lying down in a
field. The roof was made of dark tiles, the adobe walls

16. The Possible Dream
16
were whitewashed and there was a dirt floor. It was
surrounded by three patios with hammocks hanging
from rustic beams. There were pots with flowers of all
different types and an old ox cart was parked next to
the room where the corn was stored.
Inside the house other hammocks served as living
room furniture for sitting down and talking. The dining
room was an old wooden table. There were trunks for
storing clothes, and on a table next to a wood-burning
stove, there were pitchers and pots on top of yaguales,
or cloth wound in a spiral that women used to carry
loads on their head. Two screens made from wooden
slats and cloth separated the three humble bedrooms
from the rest of the house. Raúl and Carmen slept
in one bedroom, and the children were distributed
between the other two and the hammocks. Hanging
from the center beam was the classic guide to natural
medicine, Bristol’s Almanac, and a horseshoe. On one
of the walls there was an image of Saint Teresa.
Carmen always kept the dirt floor clean and
tightly packed with water and a broom made out of
dried branches. There were flowerpots made from old
jars and plenty of pots. Surrounding the house was a
rather large expanse of land where there were pens for
the cows, a Zebu bull, and other beasts of burden. Pigs
wallowed in the mud in a small pigsty. Raúl had planted
cornfields and orange, mango, banana, avocado, lime,
cashew and almond trees. There were also guayabos,
conacastes, tamarinds and timber-yielding trees.
Miss Juliana was already over seventy years old.
She was a small woman with indigenous features and a
happy, talkative personality. Besides being a midwife,
she was also a well-known fortune-teller. She knew

17. The Possible Dream
17
about the lives and business of all the people who lived in
Santa Teresa. Ever since the violent upheavals of 1932
in the western part of the country, when thousands died
in a rebellion against the government, she was given to
making prophecies at wakes and baptisms warning that
Santa Teresa would disappear in a flood, and that all
Chalatenango would rise up in hatred, brother against
brother.
When the newborn was fast asleep next to his
mother, the midwife approached Raúl and asked:
-“What name are you going to give to the child?”
-“José, like my father, and Ramón... José Ramón. Carmen
and I already decided that if it was a boy, that’s the name
we’d give him.”
From an early age, Ramón was very curious. He
was dark and thin. Two enormous brown eyes stood
out on his small chiseled face. On his fifth birthday, his
father took him for the first time to the Lempa River to
fish. Raúl taught him how to swim and use a fishing
net. That first encounter with the majestic river would
be one of the best memories of his life.
One of his biggest thrills as a child was to go to
Potonico or Chalatenango on Sundays. Raúl and his
two sons, Santiago and Ramón, woke up very early
in the morning and ate a breakfast of beans, curdled
cheese, tortillas fresh from the comal, and hot coffee.
Then they saddled their rides: the black horse with
a white star in front and the brown mule. Raúl and
Ramón rode the horse, with Ramón sitting in front on
the pommel as best he could. Santiago rode on the
mule. They traveled slowly, climbing up and down the
sierra.

18. The Possible Dream
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After a trip of almost four hours, they arrived
early in the morning in Chalatenango. They left their
mounts in Don Loncho Hernández’s corral. For three
centavos, Don Loncho looked after the animals and
gave them a handful of hay. After attending Mass and
doing errands, Raúl took the boys to the dry goods
store run by Don Jacobo the Turk to buy some clothes
for them. After that, they drank fruit shakes at Doña
Armida Solórzano’s stand.
By mid-afternoon they returned to Santa Teresa
beneath an immensely blue sky on paths that meandered
through green fields redolent of ripe fruit, wildflowers,
fresh grass and clean air. They were happy. The thin,
curious boy dreamed that one day he would outgrow
those landscapes just as he would outgrow the clothes
that Don Jacobo sold them.
That was Ramón’s dream, but at times reality
is harsh and adverse, as if circumstance conspired
against happiness, or destiny plotted brutally against
our hopes.
This book tells the story of José Ramón Barahona,
a fighter who never gave up, despite the many blows he
experienced from his earliest childhood, when because
of the death of his father, he and his family suffered
the most abject poverty. This is the life journey of that
dream-filled child, the hard-working boy, the risk-taking
and triumphant man, as he himself tells it, thanks to his
extraordinary memory and to the many anecdotes he
has stored away.
In short, this is the inspiring tale of a humble
Salvadoran campesino that rose from his precarious

19. The Possible Dream
19
status as an illegal immigrant in the United States to
reach the American Dream. It is the story of a man
who left his small village barefoot, his pockets empty,
with only a single change of clothes and a suitcase full
of dreams, first passing through San Salvador, where
he enjoyed the affection and protection of a respected
Salvadoran family, and then climbing the ladder of
business success in the world’s greatest economic
power.
I met José Ramón Barahona in Washington
D.C., where my work as strategic communications
adviser had taken me. He is, without a doubt, the
most important reference point for the prosperous
Salvadoran community that lives in the capital of the
United States. His business successes are well-known,
as is his genuine concern for Salvadorans who arrive in
that country with only the tools born from their dreams
and their enormous capacity for work. Many of them
found jobs and stability with the help of a man who,
just like them, came to make his dream come true.
What first impressed me about José Ramón
Barahona were his innate wisdom and his extraordinary
simplicity. Around the same time we met, I had a
conversation with Manuel Meléndez, the president
of the company I work for, about the phenomenon of
the massive immigration of Salvadorans to the United
States. We had been watching a news report about
the feared Mara Salvatrucha, the Salvadoran gang
described by some news outlets in the United States as
the first transnational crime organization. The images
of those violent gang members have unfortunately
stained a community that for the most part is composed
of hard-working, enterprising people, of whom José

20. The Possible Dream
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Ramón Barahona is a stellar example. The idea of
writing this book emerged from that conversation.
The epic achievements of José Ramón Barahona
prove that there are no short cuts or magic formulas
to help us realize our dreams. They show that it is
only possible by a combination of intelligence, honor,
effort, discipline, perseverance, and absolute clarity of
purpose. But these pages contain more: the bitter taste
of homesickness, the solidarity of humble compatriots
in the cold of the north, the incessant desire to arrive
at, or rather, to return one day to the promised land: El
Salvador, this intense, irascible and loving piece of land
that has been, is and will be our sustenance forever.
The purpose of this narrative is to serve as an
inspiration and encouragement to future generations,
and to provide an example to those who wish to achieve
success and triumph over their natural boundaries or
limitations as individuals.