TOPPENISH, Wash. — It is with pain that the wiry man with deep lines in his face remembers something he’d tell other activists decades ago.

During meetings to organize farm workers or plan legislative lobbying, some volunteers would bow out early to attend their children’s school plays or athletic events.

“I used to say, ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you believe in the cause?’” said Tomás Villanueva, who turns 68 today. “I was too much involved that I completely forgot the family.”

In recent months, the once tireless advocate for farm worker rights has had plenty of time to reflect on the past and think about the future.

Multiple strokes over the summer have left him housebound and physically unable to use his left arm. To Villanueva’s frustration, that means no typing, and no more of his big customary hugs.

But visitors still stream in and out of his Toppenish home to hear stories from the man credited with helping start what would eventually become the Yakima Valley Farm Workers Clinic. 

“Those times were different, when people would call us agitators or communists or socialists,” Villanueva said. “I don’t know what they expected, if we were going to be trying to take over. All we wanted was equality.”

On Sunday, more than 100 friends from across the state and as far away as Boston celebrated Villanueva’s contributions.

Many, including George Finch, a former community and farm worker union organizer, have known Villanueva for four decades.

“Over the years you get to know people. You do things politically, but the reason why you keep them in your heart is them as a person,” said Finch, now a freelance writer based in Yakima. “Tomás has inspired a lot of people over the years because of his dedication, and he’s very articulate and he’s really sincere.”

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Villanueva was born in Monterrey, in northern Mexico, and was one of 18 children, although six died before reaching adulthood. His mother was known in their neighborhood as being “La Madrina,” or “The Godmother,” for her ability to persuade authorities to right injustices. He would learn about nonviolent protest from her, as he would again years later from César Chávez.

Villanueva arrived in the United States at age of 13 with his family to begin the life of migrant farm workers — traveling from Texas to Ohio to the Pacific Northwest, always following the crop.

Work kept him from finishing high school, although he would eventually get his GED.

“I think because of that we weren’t ever allowed to get jobs while we were in school. He valued education,” said his son, Javier Villanueva, an insurance salesman and one of Villanueva’s seven children.

He didn’t intentionally set out to become an advocate for other farm workers. He worked as a carpenter and on the railroads and at one time dreamed of becoming an accountant or doctor. Villanueva was always good at math and science, although never English. He still speaks with a thick Mexican accent.

It was in the 1960s at Yakima Valley College that Villanueva befriended Ricardo Garcia, with whom he joined a Catholic social justice group that reached out to migrant farm workers.

“There was an inspiration to really get involved in the community,” said Garcia, who would later help found the nation’s first Spanish-language public broadcaster Radio KDNA. “We were young, excited about doing something for farm workers.”

Around this time, Villanueva met Chávez, the legendary advocate for farm worker rights, in California and decided to bring his example to the Yakima Valley through a food cooperative and the Farm Workers Family Health Center in Toppenish, which eventually became the Yakima Valley Farm Workers Clinic. “I didn’t become a doctor, but there’s 200, 300 new doctors here because of what I did then,” Villanueva said.

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He also became the local expert on labor law.

“He has such a sharp mind and he’s observing,” Garcia said. “He was the guru on farm worker protection, (Labor and Industries), the (Employment) Security Department, and legislation at the national and state level.

In Olympia, he worked to improve working conditions for farm workers, access to education and improved housing. “He made an impression on Olympia. They knew who Tomás was.”

For a while, he worked as a community liaison for the state Department of Social and Health Services, but his jobs never made him much money. While some of his companions would find full-time jobs and security, much of what Villanueva did was as a volunteer.

For years, his family lived in a two-bedroom house. His five sons shared a garage that was converted into a living area, with old doors serving as walls. His children — all grown now — fondly remember the presents — guns that shot rubber bands, a kitchenette, checkerboards — all carved out of wood by Villanueva.

“Obviously, financially it was just very difficult,” said Villanueva’s wife, Hortencia. “We literally had to go out to our extended families — I would make it a point of going to visit regularly just so my kids could have some thing to eat.

“But the kids never realized how poor we were, and that to me meant everything.”

When he could, Villanueva took his children along to strikes and protests across the state. They handed out fliers, lobbied with him in Olympia and learned from the way their father treated others.

“There was this guy once, yelling at the top of his lungs and dad would just keep smiling,” remembers his son, Jaime Villanueva. “People would yell racial slurs, every name in the book, and he’d be nodding and smiling, saying, ‘OK, brother.’”

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Even those in the agriculture industry that Villanueva so often fought came to respect him.

Mike Gempler, president of Washington Growers Association, said he met Villanueva when farm worker strikes and labor conflicts were at their height in the 1980s.

“At times Tómas displayed a hard-headedness that served him well, and had the persistence and stubbornness to represent his constituents  — and sometimes that did not serve him so well,” Gempler said.

“Through it all he was able to work toward a solution, and agreement, and never be angry or leave the table. That’s notable.

“There were times when he held the upper hand, held all the political cards, and was still willing to engage the agricultural industry. And then there were times when he had no cards in his hands and was still willing to keep trying.”

His example has inspired others in the Valley.

“There are so many of us here who are limited in their ability to speak English, and they don’t have a voice,” said Nestor Hernandez, president of the Hispanic Chamber of Commerce of Greater Yakima. “I hope others will continue the struggle for equal rights like Mr. Villanueva.

“This great man, for me, is like a César Chávez because of his concern for the farm worker.”

Villanueva has never felt that his work was enough.

“As much as I believe that has been done there is still so much to do,” he said. “Much of the poor conditions for farm workers still exist. There is no collective bargaining for farm workers. The union is not active — you hardly hear of it anymore.”

For now at least, Villanueva can’t do much about any of that. He shuffles around the house, rests and hopes for good news from doctors about possible surgeries to fix circulation to his left arm.

Once, many years ago, he’d nearly finished writing his memoirs, but then his computer and other electronics were stolen when his house was broken into. He might do that again, with voice recognition software since he can’t type.

But mostly he’s grateful for all these moments he now has with family.

“Now that I’ve been forced to be at home I think I have spent more quality time than I ever have with my wife,” Villanueva said “And I’ve enjoyed it, and I’ve enjoyed talking with my kids.”

• Melissa Sánchez can be reached at 509-577-7675 or msanchez@yakimaherald.com.