The Orlando Open's Promoters, Bob and Eydie Romano and Blackjack David Sopolis are pleased to announce that a portion of the door proceeds and a tentative silent auction will be held during this event for the benefit of Vivian Villarreal charity "Vivian's Kid'z" For Missing and Exploited Children.
Bob, Eydie and David (Blackjack)have been working on making this project come true for many months now. It is our pleasure to be able to help Vivian out with this worthy cause. If you or you company are interested in participating by donating an item for the silent auction, please contact us at windycityopen@aol.com for further information.
Here is a brief summery of the history behind the cause:
--------------------
Racking up help for children
--------------------
Sad experience drives Villarreal to aid missing kids.
By Ethan J. Skolnick
Sports columnist
June 22, 2005
July 23, 1997.
You don't forget a date like that.
Not when you were stood up the way Vivian Villarreal was.
"It's been so heartbreaking," says Villarreal, who participates tonight at the Seminole Hard Rock Casino in a charity 9-ball pro-am to benefit Vivian's Kidz. From Thursday through Sunday, she will compete in the 2005 Cuetec Cues Florida Classic 9-ball tournament against other stars of the Women's Professional Billiards Association.
It's common for sports media members to attend and promote events that benefit all sorts of worthwhile causes, and it's careless and callous to rate one philanthropic endeavor over another. Still, it's rare to find a cause that is more painfully personal for one of the premier players in his or her particular profession.
Why did Villarreal start Vivian's Kidz, which raises funds to find missing children and assist exploited ones?
It's this simple.
It's been nearly eight years since the San Antonio resident last saw little Nathalie Garcia.
Nathalie had come into Villarreal's life by fortunate accident, after an unfortunate beginning to the baby's life. Vivian's mother, Gloria, worked at a day-care center with a friend named Angie. Angie had a maid from Mexico, who was in the country illegally. That maid, Theresa Guerra, had a child with Angie's brother.
Guerra had her troubles. In 1993, she went to prison for shoplifting, her six-month conviction later extended to 31/2 years because of prior convictions.
Nathalie was just 4 months old.
An uncle took care of her at first, but hospital officials intervened after he was involved in a car accident with her. Before Nathalie went into the foster care system, Villarreal, then 27 and already a national champion, offered to take in the baby.
She took Nathalie to her tournaments. Nathalie always took her crayons. Competitors took turns looking after her. Nathalie took to her new guardian quickly, calling her "Mami."
More than four years passed.
When word came that Guerra would be deported, Villarreal visited the prison, begging the birth mother to leave the child. Guerra agreed. But when Guerra got out of prison, she went looking for Nathalie.
"I went into hiding," Villarreal says. "I was her mother. I told Theresa, `I'm not going to let you take her just like this. She doesn't know you.'"
The case went to court. A judge, after hearing a child psychologist argue that taking the child away from Villarreal would be "psychological death," granted primary custody rights to the billiards pro, with Guerra settling for visitation. For nearly a year, they shared the child this way, with Guerra crossing the border for supervised time with Nathalie.
"Nathalie didn't want to go," Villarreal says. "She would call me from the house."
Eventually, the court dropped mandatory supervision from Guerra's visits.
On July 23, 1997, Villarreal dropped off Nathalie in the morning, then returned to pick her up after pool practice.
"I haven't seen her since," says Villarreal, now 40. "For three years, I looked and looked and looked for her, spent every penny I had -- bounty hunters and investigators, writing down license plate numbers. We knew she was in Mexico, but my mother told me to stop, because she thought someone would get killed."
Villarreal didn't stop playing pool throughout her ordeal. How could she? After first picking up a cue at age 5, she had made a habit by 8 of hopping on her father's Harley in the name of finding a game. So, even after her life had been ransacked, the adult Villarreal kept up the flamboyant, aggressive style that earned her the nickname "The Texas Tornado," continuing to wear her signature red and chat with fans.
At first, her game did suffer, as she failed to win a tournament in 1997 for the first time since turning pro. She has won several since, finishing 2004 at No. 4 in the world before slipping back to No. 7.
She has helped raise other children, including those of a cousin who died of pancreatic cancer, yet has no kids of her own.
"Too heartbreaking," she says.
Memories of July 23, 1997 still sting too much. Theresa Guerra still faces kidnapping charges. Nathalie still is Villarreal's little girl, even if she turns 13 in December.
"I will never have closure until I see Nathalie," Villarreal says, "because she was my child."
Ethan J. Skolnick can be reached at eskolnick@sun-sentinel.com.
Bob, Eydie and David (Blackjack)have been working on making this project come true for many months now. It is our pleasure to be able to help Vivian out with this worthy cause. If you or you company are interested in participating by donating an item for the silent auction, please contact us at windycityopen@aol.com for further information.
Here is a brief summery of the history behind the cause:
--------------------
Racking up help for children
--------------------
Sad experience drives Villarreal to aid missing kids.
By Ethan J. Skolnick
Sports columnist
June 22, 2005
July 23, 1997.
You don't forget a date like that.
Not when you were stood up the way Vivian Villarreal was.
"It's been so heartbreaking," says Villarreal, who participates tonight at the Seminole Hard Rock Casino in a charity 9-ball pro-am to benefit Vivian's Kidz. From Thursday through Sunday, she will compete in the 2005 Cuetec Cues Florida Classic 9-ball tournament against other stars of the Women's Professional Billiards Association.
It's common for sports media members to attend and promote events that benefit all sorts of worthwhile causes, and it's careless and callous to rate one philanthropic endeavor over another. Still, it's rare to find a cause that is more painfully personal for one of the premier players in his or her particular profession.
Why did Villarreal start Vivian's Kidz, which raises funds to find missing children and assist exploited ones?
It's this simple.
It's been nearly eight years since the San Antonio resident last saw little Nathalie Garcia.
Nathalie had come into Villarreal's life by fortunate accident, after an unfortunate beginning to the baby's life. Vivian's mother, Gloria, worked at a day-care center with a friend named Angie. Angie had a maid from Mexico, who was in the country illegally. That maid, Theresa Guerra, had a child with Angie's brother.
Guerra had her troubles. In 1993, she went to prison for shoplifting, her six-month conviction later extended to 31/2 years because of prior convictions.
Nathalie was just 4 months old.
An uncle took care of her at first, but hospital officials intervened after he was involved in a car accident with her. Before Nathalie went into the foster care system, Villarreal, then 27 and already a national champion, offered to take in the baby.
She took Nathalie to her tournaments. Nathalie always took her crayons. Competitors took turns looking after her. Nathalie took to her new guardian quickly, calling her "Mami."
More than four years passed.
When word came that Guerra would be deported, Villarreal visited the prison, begging the birth mother to leave the child. Guerra agreed. But when Guerra got out of prison, she went looking for Nathalie.
"I went into hiding," Villarreal says. "I was her mother. I told Theresa, `I'm not going to let you take her just like this. She doesn't know you.'"
The case went to court. A judge, after hearing a child psychologist argue that taking the child away from Villarreal would be "psychological death," granted primary custody rights to the billiards pro, with Guerra settling for visitation. For nearly a year, they shared the child this way, with Guerra crossing the border for supervised time with Nathalie.
"Nathalie didn't want to go," Villarreal says. "She would call me from the house."
Eventually, the court dropped mandatory supervision from Guerra's visits.
On July 23, 1997, Villarreal dropped off Nathalie in the morning, then returned to pick her up after pool practice.
"I haven't seen her since," says Villarreal, now 40. "For three years, I looked and looked and looked for her, spent every penny I had -- bounty hunters and investigators, writing down license plate numbers. We knew she was in Mexico, but my mother told me to stop, because she thought someone would get killed."
Villarreal didn't stop playing pool throughout her ordeal. How could she? After first picking up a cue at age 5, she had made a habit by 8 of hopping on her father's Harley in the name of finding a game. So, even after her life had been ransacked, the adult Villarreal kept up the flamboyant, aggressive style that earned her the nickname "The Texas Tornado," continuing to wear her signature red and chat with fans.
At first, her game did suffer, as she failed to win a tournament in 1997 for the first time since turning pro. She has won several since, finishing 2004 at No. 4 in the world before slipping back to No. 7.
She has helped raise other children, including those of a cousin who died of pancreatic cancer, yet has no kids of her own.
"Too heartbreaking," she says.
Memories of July 23, 1997 still sting too much. Theresa Guerra still faces kidnapping charges. Nathalie still is Villarreal's little girl, even if she turns 13 in December.
"I will never have closure until I see Nathalie," Villarreal says, "because she was my child."
Ethan J. Skolnick can be reached at eskolnick@sun-sentinel.com.
