She Never Turned the Children Away

Every neighborhood should have a person like Valerie Gonzalez.

In Saticoy, when a kid on the street skinned his knee, he knew just who to see for a bandage.

When a friend locked herself out of her car miles away, she knew who would drop everything to pick her up.

Parents concerned about their children’s school problems would drop by Valerie’s for moral support. After all, she was a mother of three and had no problem speaking her mind to the people in charge.

“Well, let’s go down and talk to the principal,” she’d tell the anxious parents in her no-nonsense way. “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

So when the county managed to funnel a few dollars to Saticoy for a summer recreation program in the early 1990s, the choice for a director was obvious: Valerie Gonzalez.

It didn’t take long for the program to explode. Saticoy is a community high on pride but low on amenities, especially for kids. Recreation officials budgeted the new program for 40 children, but in no time, as many as 70 showed up--and Valerie would turn no one away.

“She was just amazing,” recalled Pam Gallo, the county’s park operations supervisor. “She’d take all these kids into the program--and then go out and get someone to donate Dodger tickets, or money, or a bus.”

One bleak summer, the county couldn’t come up with enough money to pay her. She reported for work anyway, hauling soccer balls and board games from her house to the park down the street because all those kids needed something to do.

But she offered even more, Gallo said: “She’d sit kids down in a circle and talk about how to care for one another, about what it takes to become a good person.”

For years, Valerie’s program was the only game in town.

Angie Escamilla, her next-door neighbor, said that excited children would tap on the Gonzalez door the day after school ended: “Valerie! When do we start?”

As the weeks rolled by, interest would build in the annual big trip, an outing to places like Magic Mountain or Knott’s Berry Farm.

“This isn’t a place where everyone takes family vacations,” Escamilla said, “so these kids didn’t mind being out there washing cars or cooking hot dogs to raise money. Afterward, Valerie would always say: ‘You guys did it! You got the trip! Aren’t you glad now?’ ”

A couple of years ago, Valerie “retired” from the summer program. Her new grandchildren and her job as a nurse’s assistant were demanding more time. But even when others ran the program, she’d drop by the park to see how she could help: “You guys OK here? You need anything?”

Children would swoop around her: “She’s baaaaack!”

On June 30, she picked up her son and some other kids from summer school. After dropping them at home, she headed off to see one of her elderly patients. Technically, she was off-duty--but a person in need could not be denied.

She never came back.

For reasons unknown, her car smashed into a parked truck on Vineyard Avenue. Two hours later, she was dead, at the age of 46.

More than 1,000 people came to her funeral, but a more lasting tribute will occur on Saturday.

Her neighbors and friends will gather at Saticoy Community Park at 10 a.m. County officials will plant a jacaranda, one of her favorite trees. People close to her will speak. County Supervisor Susan K. Lacey will read a resolution, and a plaque will let the children of Saticoy know that the spot in which they are sliding, climbing, swinging and engaging in the general goofiness of childhood is henceforth to be known as the Valerie Sandoval Gonzalez Playground.

At Valerie’s urging, the county replaced its dilapidated equipment with colorful plastic play structures a couple of years ago. She stunned recreation officials by raising $800 for the effort just as she had so often before--twisting arms at local companies, flashing her famous smile, selling burritos at softball games.

“She helped pick out the new equipment,” said county parks manager Andy Oshita. “She was there almost every day, watching the contractors put it in. This was her place.”

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Steve Chawkins can be reached at 653-7561 or at steve.chawkins@latimes.com.