NOVEMBER 1963

According to my calculations, November 1963 was about 42 years ago. New houses were selling for about 19,000 dollars, you could mail a letter for a nickel, gas was 30 cents a gallon and "The Birds" was the hot movie of the year. On November the 22nd, our President John F. Kennedy was cut down in Dallas, and Oswald got his on the 24th. The most important thing that happened to me was Grandma Concha went to Heaven on the November the 25th, 1963. It was truly a bad week.

I was a freshman in high school. I was in the cafeteria when the news broke about the assassination. Teachers were crying, and the administration called a special assembly in the gym and made the official announcement. I think they let us go home. Sometime this same week I remember hearing that Grandma Concha had fallen and was in the hospital. I never knew her to be sick, so I figured that she would be all right. What follows is a dim memory of a real bad time.

We were released from school, I'm not sure because it was Thanksgiving vacation, or because of the death of the President. At home, if you turned on the television set, of the 3 channels we were able to receive, they were full of information on the terrible tragedy in our country. I didn't realize another was brewing in our own family. Dad was on the phone a lot, I'm sure someone was keeping him updated on Grandma's condition. Dad was pretty stoic and when the bad news came he told us that Grandma had passed away at the hospital.

At this time in my tender 14 years I really had not known death as it affects you personally, to someone you love. I have to say, I don't think it sank in that Grandma was gone. Dad said the funeral was being planned. The sercices were held at the Guerrero and Semor Funeral Home in San Leandro. Since before and after 1963, a place where many services have been held for family members on their final jouney to their eternal resting place.

Many of us were young when we gathered that day for the funeral. I remember intently listening to the profound grief of my family, especially my Aunts and watching dad and the men in the family comforting so many people grieving while suffering themselves. I can remember the sweet smell of flowers, I can hear the wails and the sight of flowing tears to this day. Someone cried, "does Papa want Mama more than we do"? The answer was yes, Grandma Concha was gone from this earth, but will always live in our hearts.

I remember a huge procession to the cemetery in Hayward. Although Grandpa and other family members were buried at the Holy Sepulcher cemetery, I didn't realize the size of the place. In the end, the large cemetery was a good thing as the line of cars in the procession never seemed to end. Later, I remember thinking that the procession President Kennedy had didn't have anything on Grandma Concha, she must have known everyone in San Leandro and they came to honor her on that day in November, 1963.

QUICKIES

No, not that kind. Once in a while I have a time when different memories pop into my mind.. Not enough to be a big thing or story, just thoughts quickly flying by.
Like, PaPa Vigallon cutting hobas(horse beans) with his pocket knife; Tony Castro Jr. being stung by a bee while he trimmed hedges, and put a mud pack on it; Johnnie Castro Jr. collecting old shoes throughout the neighborhoods and stacking them in our garage where we tied and counted all the pairs of shoes. It was during the war(WWII) and Johnnie turned them over to a shoe store to recycle them; PaPa Vigallon cutting twigs and growths from plants with his pocket knife; Uncle John Vigallon pushing me around in his wagon with the iron wheels up to the railroad tracks to cut and haul grass back for the animals??? I guess; Walking to the bakery (very slow) when I was about eight years old with my brother Mike and Johnnie Jr when he lived on Thornton Ave.; As a kid going to MaMa Concha's and being baby sat by Aunts, Antoinette, Emily, and Marie; Tita Mary Castro who always seemed to be washing dishes and looking out the window on to First Avenue (now Marina Blvd.);PaPa Vigallon cutting French bread with..yup..his pocket knife; Learning how to jitter-bug..my teacher..the teenager in bobby sox screaming for Frank Sinatra ..cousin Marge (Dambley); Oh yea Marge also taught me to type, a talent that has become more useful to me than the "jitter-bug."; PaPa Vigallon got that sliver out of your finger with his pocket knife; Sitting with Family on Abuela Ramiros porch for hours on Sundays and waiting for someone to go to the cherry street market on the corner and bring back some candy.; Not sure whose dog, but at Abuela Ramiros there was always a white mongrel dog named Lucky; Crab apples from Mama Concha's tree and the mess in front of the house from the Locot Tree; Weddings and parties at the Spanish Club (Iberico Club); Cousins Tony, Johnnie, my brother Mike, and I shooting our BB guns in our back yard on Williams Street; Sitting under the tree sipping wine with my wife Connie and with Uncle Tony Vigallon at his house in Irvington; and finally, PaPa Vigallon cutting me a hunk of cheese with.......you know the ending.

PRUNES

It appears that the mighty prune or what is now called the "dried plum" has played a part in our family heritage. Aunt Lolly's post reminded me about some things that as a child I was reminded of..... Like I had posted a while back, I grew up in Irivington, now part of Fremont. Agriculture was has a huge business in California before the boom years, and much of the area I spent my formative years was orchards, crops and fields ripe with all sorts of fruits and vegetables.

What follows here is not in anyway an attempt to say I understand what it was like to live in the Coyote Hilton, but my story is about how I got to experience a very little bit of "family history".

My first "paying" job besides mowing lawns and that kind of stuff was cutting apricots. I wasn't old enough to pick, so I got to stand and slice the little devils in half, take out the seed and place each half on a big wooden tray to dry. We got paid by the tray, they were 4 X 8 feet each.

I had heard about the days both of my folks and their families had picked prunes. My grandmother on my moms side lived near Santa Rosa near some plum/prune orchards. I think my mom (Eleanor) thought I found some enjoyment working with apricots, (actually it was only the money) so she got this idea that some of us kids could and should actually experience first hand how the family survived in the early days. So, sure enough we went to my grandmothers, got up and headed to the orchard to pick prunes, how fun!

For those of you who really hadn't thought about the prune in the bag you see at the store, here is how how it works.... You get up way before the chickens, go to the field and sign in. You get a card to keep with you that you get punched when your bucket gets filled and emptied. When you get to the area to be picked, the "things" you are going to pick are already on the ground. There is a very sweet smell of ripe fruit that permeates the air. When your bucket gets filled, you walk to the trailer, dump it, punch and return to your area.

Sounds easy! First bend down and start picking them up, then your back hurts a little and you get down on one knee and pick some more. After a short time, a really short time, your back is hurting, and one knee.. now you get on both knees and its better for a little while longer. You keep picking and filling the buckets. You do this all day dodging rocks, dirt clods and gooey ripe plums with your knees. I'm sure we had lunch and breaks but all I remember is that we did this for a few days and that every part of my body was hurting. I remember mom telling me how lucky we were that we didn't have to do that any more. This is one time she really got my agreement!

Just a footnote about my dad (Tony) he didn't go on the prune picking trip. He really tried to separate himself from the outdoors and all things agricultural. As a kid, he didn't talk alot about what he had done, but said many times that he didn't like to camp because as a kid he had had his fill. One time, as a family we traveled to Sacramento for a day trip and he pointed out the area the family had lived, where he went to the movies and the cannery the family worked in. He said he worked in a tomato cannery. Funny, he never used catsup and as I remember he was not a big fan of prunes either!

Randy Vigallon