Third grade was the first time my mother realized that I was an outspoken person and perhaps the first time I recognized my own cultural differences. My family had recently moved to Colorado Springs from New Mexico after my father was relocated by the army. About halfway during the school year, we were learning about Colorado history and my teacher was telling us about a landmark she called “May-suh Vur-dee” (spelled phonetically). I interjected with a raised hand to correct her. “Actually, it’s pronounced Mesa Verde,” I announced. To which she replied, “No, it’s says right here in the book “may-suh vur-dee”. Like a good student, I refrained from any further discussion. At the end of the lesson, my teacher asked the class “How has Colorado changed over the years?” I was the first to raise my hand and I said “They used to call it Mesa Verde, and now they call it Maysuh Vurdee”.
I attended a private
college-prep school on a full scholarship. Even then, it was cost prohibitive
because books, fees, and experiential trips were not covered by the
scholarship. My dad painted the interior of the building in exchange for
these things so that I wouldn’t miss out. The Colorado Springs school was a
great choice for me both academically and socially. I was challenged to think
critically and globally and I was surrounded by like-minded students who all
intended to go to college.
My senior year, as I
set my sights on college, my mother and I began the search for scholarships.
She saw an ad in the Colorado Springs Gazette for a scholarship pageant
and we decided that I would enter. I was excited to have another opportunity
to perform on stage and was hoping to collect a few dollars of scholarship
money along the way. I placed 2nd runner up in the 1994 Miss Colorado
Springs Pageant and won a couple hundred dollars in scholarships.
It came as a surprise
to both of us that I had entered a preliminary to the Miss America pageant.
I had watched the Miss America pageant growing up, but like many children
of color, never saw myself in any of the contestants that graced the stage. If
we had known that Miss Colorado Springs led to the Miss America pageant, I
probably would not have entered. However, the small taste of success
motivated me to enter another local pageant where I won a title that earned me
a spot at the state contest in Denver that summer. Not everyone in my life shared
my excitement, though. My college counselor told me that the pageant was
very competitive and that I should focus my energy elsewhere since it was
unlikely that I would win. Even my great-grandmother was convinced that I
was wasting my time because “they’ll never choose a Hispanic for Miss
Colorado”.
To everyone’s
surprise, including my own, I was named 1st runner up to Miss Colorado.
Fresh and eager to try again, I came back the next year. Not only
did I not win, but I dropped to 2nd runner up. Third year I was back in
the 1st runner up position. Always a bridesmaid. The crown seemed to be
just out of reach.
The following summer,
on my fourth attempt, I found myself in the familiar position of holding my
breath as the judges’ decision was announced. 4th runner up… not me.
3rd runner up… not me. 2nd runner up… not me. 1st
runner up… not me. So, of course I thought, ‘either I’ve won or I did so
horribly that I didn’t place at all’. Then, the moment I had been waiting
for...My name was announced as the winner of the Miss Colorado pageant.
The summer of 1997, I
made history as the first Hispanic woman to wear the Miss Colorado crown.
The community took notice and I enjoyed an outpouring of enthusiasm and
support from our increasingly diverse state. The pageant board was less
enthused. The micro-aggressions began immediately. On the day that I won, one
former Miss Colorado (and future board member) told a mutual friend that she
would do whatever it took to remove me as Miss Colorado. Calls to book me
for appearances went unanswered and certain sponsors, like the one who was to
provide a $3,000 evening gown, suddenly got cold feet. The pageant board
refused to meet weekly with me as instructed by the Miss America Organization,even though new rules for competition were in place that year.
In fact, my wardrobe coordinator was the only member of the pageant board who
helped me prepare for Miss America at all, albeit in a limited capacity. My travel
companion, who was investigated that summer by the Miss America organization for reportedly
making racist comments, explicitly told me that I should not have high
expectations because when I didn’t win Miss America “it would be a mighty big
fall”.
Although I did not
place in the Top 10 at Miss America, it was the experience of a lifetime, one
that no member of the board had the power to take away. I did place in
the top 7 contestants for the “Quality of Life Award” in recognition for my
community service work around dropout prevention.
After the national
broadcast in September 1997, I found myself in the familiar position of waiting
by the phone for the pageant board to book appearances for me. I was required
to take a leave of absence from school during my “year of service”, but was not
allowed to take on a part-time job. It seemed as though the only
appearance requests that were answered came from their own social circles.
With permission from the board president, my mom and I started booking my
appearances ourselves and I also got a job wrapping gifts at Dillard’s for the
holiday season.
Then on New Year’s
Eve 1997, I received a letter via FedEx from the pageant board. It plainly
stated that, as of that moment, I was no longer Miss Colorado. I was instructed
to place all of my prizes and the Miss Colorado crown in the John Elway
dealership sponsored vehicle, drive it to the dealership, lock the keys inside,
and leave. No reason was given.
At the same time I
was processing the letter, the phone rang. It was the local news. The
pageant board had sent them a FedEx letter too, announcing that my 1st runner
up was taking over as the new Miss Colorado. Again, no reason given.
Because they gave no reason for my dismissal (called a “dethroning” by
the press), the media had a field day trying to guess what horrible skeleton
had crawled out of my closet. Who could blame them? The only point of
reference they had for this kind of thing was Vanessa Williams, who had
resigned as Miss America amid a nude photo scandal in 1984. She was the first
African American to wear the crown.
Almost immediately,
the Miss Colorado Organization splintered in a very public way.
Resignations in protest of the board’s decision came from my
wardrobe coordinator and several other pageant volunteers. When
questioned about what I had done, the standard response from the remaining
board members was, “We can’t tell you. We’re trying to protect Regina.” I had
done nothing wrong and I challenged the board to come out with it. Of
course, they had nothing to say. They expected that the media frenzy would die
down after a while and that I would eventually go away quietly.
They knew that my
working class parents did not have the money to hire an attorney (and they were
right). What they didn’t count on was the overwhelming support I received
from the community. Two attorneys came forward to take on my case pro
bono: Michael Berniger, who I met through community service, and Walter Garash,
a high profile civil rights attorney from Denver (he had previously represented
John Denver as well as the Black Panther Party).
So, I did as I was
told and locked up the John Elway car --- in my parents’ garage---and I filed
suit. Fast tracked to conclude prior to the next pageant that June, we
had our work cut out for us; and so did the pageant board--who had yet to come
up with an explanation for their actions.
As investigators from
both sides got to work, so did the investigators for the National Inquirer,
Dateline, Hard Copy, and other national media outlets. I conducted an
interview, in Spanish, on a worldwide broadcast of "Aqui y Ahora"
(Univision) and appeared on Dateline NBC, NBC Nightly News, and on the Leeza
Show, where I met Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York. I was featured in
People magazine, People en Espaňol, and on the cover of Latina Style magazine.
If I was lacking appearances before, I wasn’t waiting by the phone anymore.
Severing ties with the pageant board was also profitable since I was able
to keep 100% of my booking fees during our separation.
However, the fight
was taking a physical and emotional toll. In addition to the media blitz (there
was one night where we were watching TV and saw a reporter on our front lawn on
the screen), constant ulcers in my stomach pulled at the uncertainty of what
the next day would bring. I was even treated for a freak break out of hives--a
reaction to the stress. There was the constant nagging question of
whether or not I would go down in history as the first Hispanic to win the
crown and the only one to lose it. The weight of the legal outcome was
daunting, but I knew I had to keep going. How could I tell students to
stay in school no matter what if I just quit when the going got tough?
In the end, the pageant board had nothing to stand on but their dislike of my assertiveness and persistence. The judge agreed, calling the board's actions "ludicrous" and awarding me the return of the Miss Colorado tile and a host of punitive damages for various egregious behaviors by the pageant board including “intentional infliction of emotional harm and distress”.
In the end, the pageant board had nothing to stand on but their dislike of my assertiveness and persistence. The judge agreed, calling the board's actions "ludicrous" and awarding me the return of the Miss Colorado tile and a host of punitive damages for various egregious behaviors by the pageant board including “intentional infliction of emotional harm and distress”.
This year, 2017,
marks the 20th anniversary of my triumphant and turbulent year as Miss Colorado
and it is the first time I have told this story in its entirety. The
lessons I learned at this pivotal moment in my life (and years of self-reflection)
have carried over in my role as a teacher, instructional coach, and now an
aspiring Principal. It is often persistence, the sheer will to push
through—even when it is not easy or popular, that determines how these moments
define us.
