Relief worker.

IT WAS NOT UNTIL SHE WAS AN ADULT THAT CARMEN Velasquez realized that she had been sitting in the back of the church. In her mother's hometown of Fort Madison, Iowa, the Catholic church had two unofficial seating sections--one in the front for the whites and one in the back for the Mexicans. So when the Velasquez family was in town from Chicago, they always sat in the back.

When, at about 19, she finally saw what she had been seeing all those years, she was furious, and she hasn't been back to that church since. But it's experiences like that that have made her the feisty, won't-take-no-for-an-answer woman she is today and a tireless advocate for those who are so often placed at the back of the line for access to rights and privileges.

Over the last 18 years, she has raised millions of dollars and birthed three bilingual, bicultural medical clinics, a task most people would find daunting--if not impossible. But Velasquez doesn't seem surprised at all. If she sets her mind to it, it's going to get done. For seven years, she didn't even take a vacation.

Growing up in a working-class neighborhood of Chicago, Velasquez saw families around her struggling because they didn't have access to affordable health care. So in 1987, when the county started to organize hearings on how to address the problem, she knew she should get involved.

Now she is the executive director of the Alivio Medical Clinics, which provide medical care for thousands of undocumented, uninsured, and underinsured residents of Chicago's West Side neighborhoods, alivio, which means "relief," serves more than 16,000 patients a year, 90 percent of whom are living below the poverty level.

Velasquez' philosophy on life is: "If I can't get through the door, I'll have to use the window. And if I can't get through the window, I guess I'll have to blow the roof off the place." And besides, she says, she never goes to these tasks alone. "I've always had a whole team behind me."

Aside from human help, she credits divine intervention with keeping the plan in motion. "There are some things that you can see are a result of your God-given talents, and one of mine is organizing, but then you look at other things and say, 'I could not have done this. How could I have done this alone?'"

Velasquez believes it was divine providence that secured the site for the first Alivio Clinic. She organized a committee to address the lack of a community health clinic in her area, and they secured a $1 million operational grant. The only problem was they didn't have a clinic to operate. Not yet anyway.

The committee was planning to work out of an existing space, so Velasquez and a friend set out walking down the main drag, knocking on doors and asking, "Are you selling this building?" she recalls. "And they would look at me and my friend in his Don Quixote poncho looking for a building, and they're thinking we probably can't even buy a candy bar."

After a while she saw an empty lot and said to her friend, "Do you see what I see?" He didn't see it, but there it was right in front of them--an empty lot right next to the Velasquez Muffler Shop. She knew it had to be a sign from God. "We went into the shop, and I said to the guy: 'Who owns this empty lot?' He says, 'I do.' I said: 'Is it for sale?' And he says: 'Offer me something.'"

In a short time, Velasquez and friends raised $2.2 million, which paid for the land, construction, and all the furniture and equipment.

Velasquez takes inspiration from Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz, the famous 17th-century Mexican nun and poet credited as being the first feminist in North America. For the last 23 years, Velasquez and business partner Rosario Rabiela have owned a restaurant called Decima Musa, after Sor Juana, who was called the "Tenth Muse" in Spain. Velasquez says it has always been "more than a restaurant, but a place where you can gather and discuss the politics of the day."

Sor Juana knew who she was and took great pride in her identity even though it was not valued by the outside world. That's a message Velasquez' parents drove home to her--to never forget who you are and be proud of it.

AT 64, RETIREMENT ISN'T IN THE PICTURE FOR VELASQUEZ. Instead she speaks of the next project: building an assisted living senior citizens' center next to one of the clinics. "I would not work this hard for any hospital or for any private company," she says. "1 love my job. It's very challenging, but I love what I do. It's the right thing to do."

CARMEN VELASQUEZ

EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR, ALIVIO MEDICAL CENTERS, CHICAGO

MY FAMILY TAUGHT ME: It's our obligation to help others.

I HAVE A PICTURE ON MY DESK OF: Our Lady of Guadalupe.

THE BEST PART ABOUT MY JOB IS: Seeing babies and kids with their parents who are able to access health care in their own language.

MY FAVORITE SAYING: I'll eat you alive.

By TARA K. DIK, assistant editor of U.S. CATHOLIC.