Road to Redemption: Jobs of Hope creates special bond between local well-known employer, former Greeley gang member |


After two years of inconsistently showing up to his roofing job, Michael Salazar had run out of excuses. Andy Casarez, his supervisor, didn't want to hear them anymore.

The last straw was a heated argument between the two of them. Salazar stormed out after the talk. Casarez said it reminded him of the kind of temper tantrum a teenager might throw.

It didn't matter to Casarez that Salazar was a special case. He was a former gangster and a graduate of Greeley's Jobs of Hope program. It didn't matter that Michael Trotter, Front Range Roofing Systems' president, had a soft spot for special cases such as Salazar. It even didn't matter that Casarez himself was covertly rooting for Salazar.

Casarez was clear: Salazar had to be fired.

Salazar was not only unreliable, he was selfish, disrespectful and even mean. It didn't make sense to keep him around, even if that meant Salazar could go back to his old life as a gang member.

Yet Salazar, 30, returned that same afternoon. His grandfather, Manuel, made him, telling him he needed to learn how to take orders and respect the pecking order.

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Salazar begged for his job back.

Trotter, 50, and Casarez, 61, knew that took courage and humility, the kind of qualities they hadn't seen from him before. They decided to give him one last chance.

Now Salazar has worked for Trotter's company for four years. The former Greeley gang member hardly misses a day of work, even though many times they start before the sun, and he's developed a close relationship with his roofing crew and Trotter, who he refers to as "Boss" in a lighthearted way.

Salazar's even a family man now, providing for his wife, Elizabeth Macias, 24, and swearing that his 5-year-old, Abel, will never have to know what it's like to be in a gang.

Salazar is a rare but important example of what organizations like Jobs of Hope can accomplish, transforming young men with criminal records into employees with full-time jobs. Trotter is an example of how a forgiving and somewhat tenacious boss with an open mind can change someone such as Salazar.

They come from opposite backgrounds. Perhaps as a result, it took years, and a lot of missteps, for the two to learn how to trust each other.


Salazar can recall his first memories of gang-related drugs and violence when he was 7 years old growing up in east Greeley. He was barely a teenager when he lost the top half of his forefinger. A family member removed it.

When Salazar was 13, he helped sell cocaine for that family member. One day, he smoked it instead of sold it, and the family member found out.

"You don't steal from family," he remembers hearing, though he was high.

The family member then heated up a knife on the stove and sliced off his finger. He can still remember how it smelled.

Since then, Salazar struggled with drug addiction and spent time in juvenile detentions across the state for a variety of crimes, including first-degree assault. He also spent time in Weld County Jail for gang-related crimes after he turned 18. But he's never been to prison. He was charged with several felonies, but he wasn't ever found guilty of one. He's proud of that.

Trotter has owned Front Range Roofing for about 17 years. He is from Littleton, about as far away from east Greeley's gangs as you can get.

The businessman graduated from Cherry Creek High School and was a member of a fraternity during his time at the University of Northern Colorado in the 1980s, which is when he met his wife, Jill, who is from Greeley and heavily involved in the community.

Trotter graduated with a degree in business and worked in the Denver area, eventually making his way back to Greeley with his family. He's been associated with the Western States Contractors Association and the Colorado Roofing Association and served on the board of the United Way of Weld County.

Family and faith are both important to Trotter, and his children either have or are pursuing their college degrees like he and his wife both did.

Trotter's never been in the back of a police car. He's proud of that.


When Salazar was in a gang, he'd put on his "strap" before his shoes. He went everywhere with his firearm.

But one warm summer evening, when he and Elizabeth were going to spend a night out, she begged him not to take it. She hoped for a nice, quiet night.

Salazar wasn't comfortable with leaving his gun at home, but he wanted to make her happy. So he left it.

That evening, July 2, 2012, in a Walmart parking lot, he almost died.

Salazar ran into a rival gang member, who shot him twice in the stomach. Another bullet grazed the side of his head.

The moment when his blood was leaving his body was a moment of clarity, he said.

Salazar wasn't ready to leave his then-unborn son, Abel, and his two other children, Isaac and Deliliah, fatherless.

"I don't remember thinking a damn thing except 'I have to get up for my son,' " he said.

Most of the people Salazar grew up with are either in jail or dead. Salazar realized that night he wanted to live.


It wasn't easy for Salazar to change, even after he was shot.

After he was released from the hospital, he went back to his old crowd and fell victim again to his drug habit, leading to a split with Elizabeth when Abel was a toddler. He felt angry. He was despondent and confused. He knew he wanted a safer life, but he also wanted revenge for what happened to him.

Salazar wanted a different life. He just didn't know how to get it.

Then, he discovered Jobs of Hope in mid 2013.

Jobs of Hope, which started in Greeley in 2013, focuses on recruiting at-risk young men, typically ages 16-24, and changing their lifestyles through employment. The program's participants go through two weeks of training where they learn everything from doing job interviews to how to properly treat women. About 16 employers have partnered with Jobs of Hope, according to Eddie Esquibel, executive director of the organization.

Former gang members have many attractive qualities that can be translated into the working world, he said, including loyalty, gratitude and caution.

It takes time for them to adjust to the working world. The organization relies on employers' patience.

"On paper, employers are not even going to give these guys a chance," Esquibel said. "Most people can't get beyond the surface of a person. But if you give these men a second chance, you can change their lives."

Salazar went to his first Jobs of Hope meeting after previous executive director, Vanna In, recruited him. Honestly, he went for the promised free food, he said. It took about three meetings before the program started to make any sense to him. It took a bit longer before he began to take it seriously.

Trotter said he was initially introduced to the organization in its early stages by city manager Roy Otto. Trotter said he trusted Otto, and that he connected with Jobs of Hope's message of recovery.

"It's all about doing what we can to make the community better," he said.

That all led to Trotter's involvement in Jobs of Hope. It's how he got Salazar, among several others of the program's graduates. Salazar, however, was the most difficult one to convince, Trotter said.

Salazar admits he hated the roofing job at first. He knew nothing about it. He also wasn't used to working long shifts of labor in a state known for its seesaw of climate. It was a lot easier to make money when he was a gangster selling drugs.

But now, Salazar sees his roofing job as a steady way to give his family what they deserve: a home, some food to eat and him. Maybe one day, he said, he'll get them their own washer and dryer.


Salazar said, ultimately, his past life wasn't the legacy God wanted for him.

Maybe, he thought, his legacy is to dust off his family name from its broken, gang-ridden past and pave a way for other young men who felt as hopeless and lost as he did.

"I want to save my city," he said. "I've done a lot of bad, but I want to fix as many of my wrongs as possible."

Maybe he'll pursue his rap dream. Or maybe he'll start his own organization similar to Jobs of Hope. Whatever it is, he wants to use his voice to change his hometown.

Elizabeth, for one, is grateful for Salazar's changes. So is her son, whose face lights up every day when his dad gets home from work. She credits Trotter and Casarez as being role models for her husband to look up to.

"We're safe now, and Michael made that happen for us," Elizabeth said. "I trusted him, and he made it happen."

Salazar isn't the only one who changed through the whole process, though.

Trotter admits to Salazar that if he saw Salazar on the streets without knowing him, he'd be afraid of his tattoo-covered body, scars and rugged demeanor. And before Trotter was involved with Jobs of Hope, he rejected any applicant with a criminal or less-than-perfect background.

Now Trotter sees more than just the stereotypes. He brings in those kinds of candidates for interviews, and he looks forward to hiring more Jobs of Hope graduates. Working with Salazar taught him to not give up on his employees with troubled pasts, because every once in a while, they really do change.

"I know everybody's story is different," Trotter said. "But I think the learning curve that Andy and I have been through with Mike would make us really good at duplicating this process several times over."

Salazar knows the risk of remaining in the city he was a gang member in. But one of the many tattoos on his arm reads "970" in big, bold writing. If Salazar gets his way, that'll be his area code until the day he dies.

Jobs of Hope

Jobs of Hope was founded five years ago and originally run by a former gang member Vanna In. The organization focuses on recruiting at-risk young men, usually ages 16-24, and helping them find employment.

It offers a two-week training program to its participants that focuses on developing basic skill sets so they can find a full-time job and keep it. They are taught everything from learning how to dress to building relationships to going through job interviews. The program has had about 120 graduates over the past five years, according to executive director Eddie Esquibel, and each training session has anywhere between three to 10 students.

About 16 local employers have partnered with Jobs of Hope, Esquibel said, covering a variety of employment opportunities, including businesses such as Weld County Garage, Front Range Roofing Systems, LLC., JBS and many more.

For more information on the program, or to learn how you can help, go to or email