There’s a word in Spanish that very aptly describes the Ruben Salazar I knew and idolized as a young reporter – campechano. It means easy-going, charming, the kind of guy you want to have a beer with, someone you want to call your friend, someone who never bores you.

Long before his recognition as a Chicano rights advocate during a turbulent time in our history, Ruben was already a hero in El Paso. His exploits as a journalist in his first newspaper job after graduation from Texas Western College earned him the reputation as a champion of the underdog, a fighter for justice, one of those special people born to tell the emperor that he’s not wearing any clothes.

When I joined the staff of the Herald-Post in 1959, Ruben had already moved on to greener pastures in California, but the Ruben Salazar stories abounded in the newsroom and I was anxious to meet him. I got that chance in 1960 when he came back to visit friends in El Paso. He was a fascinating man and his exploits as a Herald-Post staffer made him an icon in the industry. I still remember chuckling over his description of the look on Herald-Post Editor Ed Pooley’s face when Ruben presented the boss with a package of marijuana he had obtained from La Nacha, the famed Juarez drug queen who controlled the narcotics trade in Juarez in the 50s, sort of a one-woman cartel. He had wanted the Post photographer to take a picture of the weed to illustrate a story he was writing to demonstrate the ease with which one could bring drugs into the United States.

Pooley, of course, became unglued, grabbed the package of marijuana and flushed it down the commode in his office.

Then there’s the story, now legendary, of how Ruben posed as a derelict, got himself arrested and spent the night in the City Jail. He wrote an expose on conditions in the jail and the mistreatment of prisoners. [may 9, 1955, el paso herald-post, "25 Hours in Jail—'I Lived in a Chamber of Horrors,'"]

It didn’t take long for me to become one of Ruben’s unabashed admirers. We had a lot of talks over cocktails at Herald-Post news editor Bill Jordan’s house when Ruben came to town. One Sunday I invited Ruben to dinner when we lived at 9311 Salisbury Street in Northeast El Paso. He was pleasant and easy going. He congratulated my wife Margarita on the sumptious meal of roast beef and mashed potatoes and then joked with her about expecting enchiladas and tacos, since I had told him my wife was from Chihuahua. We enjoyed his company. I think everyone did. There was something special about his personality.

Nancy Hamilton probably knows more Ruben stories than anyone in El Paso. She and Ruben went to Texas Western together and were drinking buddies in the old days when young Times and Herald-Post staffers partied together. It’s good to know that Nancy probably will have something to do with Ruben’s being named posthumously as a distinguished alumnus of the University of Texas at El Paso in October.

And Attorney Tom Diamond has his own Ruben story.

I was assigned by the Herald-Post to cover the inauguration of the Chihuahua al Pacifico railroad. I believe it was 1963. Ruben was covering for his California newspaper. Tom was representing El Paso County. Mexican President Adolfo Lopez Mateos was head of the delegation, a train full of newsmen from major cities in the Southwest and dignitaries from both sides of the border. The railroad was and is an engineering marvel, with hundreds of tunnels cut through the rugged Sierra Madre Occidental. The Scotch flowed freely and the trip was pleasant at first, but it got a bit wearing when the train stopped at every little outpost while the president made a speech about how the railroad was built by Mexican engineers and workers.

Ruben and Tom Diamond, and a photographer whose name I can’t recall, decided it was time to leave the train, which had stopped at San Blas, a short distance from Los Mochis. They wanted to see Topolobampo, a 15-minute taxi drive away.

Tom recalls Ruben playfully calling for the “San Blas No Mas Revolution.” The three left the train, went to Topolobampo and somehow managed to get to Tucson and back home with a whole repertoire of stories that Tom says his wife still doesn’t believe.

I chickened out on joining the “revolution” and was glad I did. President Lopez Mateos returned to Mexico City by plane while the train, minus the presidential delegation, made its way back home to Chihuahua. Our hosts were running short of water and food but there was always plenty of Scotch. Mexicans know how to throw a party. The train derailed somewhere in the wilds of Sinaloa and we were stranded for hours. The band played “Never on Sunday” as we all partied until the sun went down. But that's another story.

“Ruben was great company,” Diamond recalled, in a recent phone conversation. "He was a fun guy. You just couldn’t help but like him.”

Campechano. Ruben Salazar. A genuine El Paso hero.

The U.S. Postal Service issued a commemorative stamp in honor of Ruben Salazar as part of its American Journalists series. Ken Flynn reported for UPI, the El Paso Herald-Post, and the El Paso Times.