HOUSTON – In the heart of Denver Harbor, a small bakery that’s been open for 55 years is fighting to stay alive. Owner Rene Porras, a Vietnam veteran, says fear of immigration raids has driven away the customers who once filled his tables.
EN ESPANOL: Dueño de panadería en Houston dice que el miedo a redadas migratorias ha vaciado su negocio
A family business with deep roots
Porras’ family opened the bakery in the late 1960s, when the neighborhood was beginning to change from Anglo to Mexican American. His father, a Navy veteran and migrant farmworker, started out running a body and paint shop on the same property. While Rene served in Vietnam, his mother began selling tacos and pan dulce through a small window.
“When I came home, my mom was selling tacos and bread out of a little window right here,” Porras said. “As far as I know, we were the first place in this neighborhood. There weren’t many Mexican bakeries in Houston back then.”
The business grew into a community hub. For decades, the bakery served construction workers, families, and neighbors heading to work before dawn.
“People don’t come in here because the place looks good,” he said. “They come in for the food and the companionship.”
‘We’re down 30 percent’
Now, the sound of pans and chatter that once filled the kitchen is gone. Porras says sales have dropped sharply in recent months, and he blames fear tied to immigration enforcement.
“Since all these immigration raids, we’re down 25 to 30 percent,” he said. “Every restaurant I talk to is changing their hours, opening later, closing earlier. The East End is struggling right now.”
He says he’s heard stories from customers about unmarked vehicles showing up near parks and businesses. “They’ll come in masks, pick up whoever, and disappear just as quickly,” he said. “That’s what’s got people scared.”
A veteran still serving his community
Porras, now in his seventies, says he’s no stranger to hardship. He served in Vietnam before taking over the family bakery, then spent decades working seven days a week.
He and his wife now do everything themselves—baking, cleaning, managing the books—to save on payroll. Rising costs for meat, eggs, and insurance have added to the pressure.
“We’re just working harder for less,” he said. “But I know it’ll get better. People are tired of being afraid.”
Despite the challenges, he’s adamant about keeping the bakery open.
“I tell them, don’t be scared. Come on in,” he said. “If you’re in my store and they want to pick you up, they’re going to have to have a warrant with your name on it. I’m a Vietnam veteran. I bled for this country. They better not ask me if I’m a citizen.”
Customers worry about what’s next
Regular customer Liz Aguirre grew up in the area and still drives from Jersey Village to visit her parents and stop by the bakery. She says it feels like coming home.
“It connects me with memories from when I was growing up,” Aguirre said. “When I come, I bring someone new and introduce them to a little piece of me.”
She says she’s noticed fewer people visiting and understands the fear that’s keeping families inside. “I can see how it could affect businesses negatively,” she said. “If this place closed, it would hurt. It’s been here all my life.”
A community under pressure
Porras says he’s seen Denver Harbor transform through generations of change—first from Anglo to Mexican American, then to a mix of Latino communities from across Central and South America. He calls the recent decline something new: “a quiet fear” that’s changing everyday life.
He believes the bakery represents more than bread and coffee. It’s about what a neighborhood stands to lose when fear replaces routine.
“I’ll keep baking until I can’t,” he said. “This place is part of Houston. It’s who we are.”