Monsignor Alfonso Gallegos: Sacramento’s “lowrider bishop”

The scene seemed unusual: more than 300 lowrider cars slowly advanced in a funeral procession through the streets of Sacramento. It happened in October 1991, when the community of modified car enthusiasts said goodbye to one of their own: Monsignor Alfonso Gallegos, who they affectionately called the “lowrider bishop.” Today, 34 years after his death, his memory lives on. Who was this bishop capable of winning the hearts of young people in the neighborhoods and a subculture normally wary of authority? His story, marked by humility and closeness, is that of a pastor on the peripheries long before this term became fashionable in the Church.

I met Monsignor Gallegos thanks to Friar Eliseo, vice-postulator of his cause. During the years in which we lived together, he introduced me to the figure of a simple, human, close bishop. Monsignor Gallegos is not only an interesting model of a pastor, but also a model of an Augustinian Recollect: a friar who walked with the people entrusted to him, never losing his smile. I remember Eliseo telling me with fraternal irony: “Gallegos had to be with the lowriders; you, among cameras and journalists.” Today, with deep admiration, I want to introduce you to a model of holiness that convinces me. I hope it can also help you.

Childhood of faith and persevering vocation

Alfonso Gallegos Apodaca was born on February 20, 1931, in Albuquerque, New Mexico, into a humble and deeply pious family with eleven children. From childhood, he faced a serious visual impairment—almost total myopia—that left him on the verge of blindness for life. However, that limitation did not erase the radiant smile that would characterize his face. While still young, his family moved to the Watts neighborhood in Los Angeles, where the Augustinian Recollect friars of the San Miguel parish nurtured in him the religious vocation that he had felt since he was an altar boy. Although his vision problem made many doubt his capacity for the ministry—he could barely read without great effort—Alfonso did not give up. With tenacity and trust in God, he demonstrated his suitability for religious life. In 1950 he entered the Order of Augustinian Recollects and made his perpetual vows on September 3, 1954. Shortly after, on May 24, 1958, he was ordained a priest.

He dedicated his first years of ministry to serving in various apostolates in the United States: he was a hospital chaplain, master of novices, and finally pastor in his beloved Watts neighborhood. That community, marked by poverty, gangs, and violence, became his first mission field. The young Father Gallegos had a special concern for the education of young people and for offering them alternatives to the dangerous gangs that dominated the streets of Los Angeles. His close charisma soon bore fruit: the people of the neighborhood saw in him a cheerful priest, with a sincere smile, always willing to listen. Those who knew him at that time remember that “he was pure love, he radiated love… he made you feel loved in his presence.” That human warmth, united with his determination, led him to roles of greater responsibility: in 1979 he was appointed first director of the Office of Hispanic Affairs of the bishops of California, from where he coordinated the migratory ministry and the defense of the rights of immigrant workers along the border with Mexico.

A bishop in the streets and in the “barrio”

On August 24, 1981, Father Gallegos received the news of his appointment as auxiliary bishop of Sacramento, California. He was consecrated on November 4, 1981, becoming one of the few Hispanic bishops in the United States at that time. From the beginning, Monsignor Gallegos made it clear that his pastoral style would not change with the miter: he would continue to be a man of the street and of the people. In fact, he used to dress simply—he could be seen with a humble t-shirt and a 99-cent hat—to be able to approach gangs and young people from difficult neighborhoods at night without imposing himself through clerical clothing. As a bishop, he spent hours outside the office to be where people needed him. He constantly traveled through the agricultural fields, visiting migrant farmers; he even stayed to sleep in their camps among the furrows, sharing their humble conditions. He defended these workers before the civil authorities, raising his voice for those who suffered injustices and uprooting. He dedicated weekends to touring the neighborhoods and parks at night, looking for young people involved in drugs or violence, earning their trust and encouraging them to leave addictions, return to school, and build a better future. Many of those boys listened to him because they saw in Gallegos a father who was sincerely interested in them and knew how to listen to them.

Nothing and no one was left out of the heart and agenda of Monsignor Gallegos. The poor, the sick, the elderly, the prisoners—without distinction of religion, culture, or race—received from him attention full of patience, as one who truly sees the face of Christ in each person. Faithful to his episcopal motto “Love one another,” this barrio bishop took the time to attend to each person without haste. He also valiantly defended the life of the most vulnerable: he raised his voice for the unborn, denouncing abortion, while promoting compassionate alternatives for mothers in difficulty. His colleagues highlighted five main traits in his personality and ministry: his cheerful humility (he was never heard complaining, not even about his almost non-existent sight), his affectionate treatment of everyone—even those who hindered his work—his fidelity to his vocation as an Augustinian Recollect, his public commitment to the most needy, and his deep life of prayer nourished by the Eucharist and devotion to the Virgin of Guadalupe. Indeed, before undertaking any apostolic journey, Gallegos spent long hours at dawn in adoration before the Tabernacle, on his knees, placing his most beloved “sheep” in God’s hands.

The “bishop of the lowriders”

Among all the marginalized communities he served, there was one that earned him the nickname by which he is remembered today. In the 1980s, the “lowriders”—fans of classic cars modified with very low bodies and hydraulic suspensions—used to gather to stroll along Franklin Boulevard in Sacramento. For the authorities, those nightly caravans represented a headache: they sometimes caused traffic jams and even violent incidents. Monsignor Gallegos, however, was able to see beyond the stereotypes. Don Alfonso acted as a mediator between the lowriders and the municipal authorities, helping to reduce tensions and find peaceful solutions so that the famous car cruise did not disturb the life of the city.

Optimistic by nature, he always looked for the spark of goodness and talent in each person. In those young people with cars decorated with bright colors and noisy engines, Gallegos recognized an immense mechanical and artistic creativity that could be channeled for good. Instead of condemning them, he decided to accompany them: he befriended the leaders of the car clubs, talked with them about their vehicles, attended their exhibitions, blessed their cars, and even got on to take a ride in one of those cars with dancing suspensions along Franklin Blvd.

His constant presence transformed the relationship of the Church with this group. “I will continue to visit the lowriders. I think the presence of a priest is important there; I feel they need us,” Gallegos said on one occasion. And it was noticeable that he also needed them, because in those encounters he found a field for his mission to bring the Gospel to the peripheries. The young lowriders began to see him not as a distant authority, but as one more of the “family.” They called him the bishop of the barrio, as it was common to see him at night, cassock rolled up, chatting animatedly next to shiny cars and smoky engines.

So much affection arose from both sides that Monsignor Gallegos came to be considered an unofficial chaplain of the lowriders and migrant workers in California. When the tragic death of the bishop occurred—run over on the road on the night of October 6, 1991, while returning from celebrating mass in a small agricultural town—that community never forgot him. In fact, at his funeral hundreds of lowriders from all over California formed a long caravan escorting Gallegos’ coffin from his parish to the cathedral. That massive farewell, with more than 300 cars with bouncing suspensions paying him honor, was proof of the immense impact he left on these young people and their families.

Legacy of holiness and living memory

Monsignor Alfonso Gallegos departed from this world at the age of 60, leaving behind a trail of love and service. His premature death moved the entire community, but his legacy was just beginning. “The beauty of being a priest—and, I hope, of being a bishop—is the opportunity to identify with people,” he used to say. And he fully lived that conviction, identifying with the humble and forgotten. Therefore, no one was surprised when in 2005 the diocese of Sacramento officially opened his cause for canonization, collecting testimonies about his heroic virtues. After years of investigation, Pope Francis declared him Venerable in 2016, recognizing in him an example of modern holiness at the service of the people. Now the Church awaits a miracle attributed to his intercession to beatify him, but for many faithful Alfonso Gallegos is already the “saint of the barrio.”

In Sacramento, his memory is still present in many concrete ways. A square in the center of the city exhibits a statue of him, reminding the common passerby that a man of God committed to social justice walked there. A maternity home founded to help single mothers in difficulty proudly bears the name of Bishop Gallegos, continuing his defense of life and the most vulnerable. And every year, around the date of his death anniversary, the engines roar again on Franklin Boulevard: dozens of lowriders shine their cars and gather to perform a “cruise” in honor of the bishop who blessed their hoods and prayed with them on the sidewalk. On October 2, 2022, for example, more than a hundred classic cars lined up on that emblematic avenue of Sacramento to pay tribute to Gallegos, exactly in the place where he used to meet with them decades ago. The image of so many gleaming vehicles advancing slowly, between prayers, memories, and tears, confirmed that the bond forged by Monsignor Gallegos with this community endures through time.

Personally, the figure of Alfonso Gallegos inspires in me a deep admiration. And it is not only because of the coincidence of sharing the same first name, but because of what his life represents. In an era in which the Church sometimes seems distant to the most needy, knowing the story of this “street bishop” moves and motivates me. Gallegos demonstrated that a true pastor smells like sheep, rolls up his cassock, and goes out to find his people wherever they are—whether under the sun of the field, in a dark alley, or among the deafening music of a lowrider. His legacy is a living call to the Church on the way out, to closeness and unreserved love. Monsignor Alfonso Gallegos, the lowrider bishop, taught us with his example that faith is best announced with worn wheels and an open heart, taking the Gospel at full throttle along the roads of the barrio. And that is why, thirty-four years later, he continues rolling in the memory and in the hearts of so many.