Chapter 7: Growing up on Evergreen Street, in East L.A.

My sister Tania and me in the tree in front of our house on Evergreen Street. I am the one one on the left with pigtails.

My sister and I slept in the little bedroom, off the front room. Mom and dad slept in the front room.  What I especially remember was a beautiful pink floribunda rose bush right outside the bedroom window.  It seemed to always have abundant clusters of baby roses, and you could seem them from inside, before even getting out of bed.   

Dad solved the problem.  Dad immediately started working on the floor in the middle room. With no history of carpentry, he took out the floor in the middle room. Since he was still running his dry cleaning/tailoring shop, working on the house was a weekend project. 

To get from the bedroom to the bathroom and kitchen, for a few months we maneuver,  walking over floor studs and the muddy uneven dirt which was the crawlspace under the floor.  It was cold and dank.   

Dad raised the flooring studs in the middle room and put a a step from the front room to the middle room, right across the opening between the two rooms.  It worked great, and we had a natural stage for family entertainment.   

I was always amazed at dad's ability to do almost anything.  Next project, he expanded the kitchen to include a washroom and expanded the front room.  Prior to that we had a washing-machine with a ringer, but it was set up in the backyard on the dirt, which we filled with the garden hose, and dumped out the water after each wash and rinse. 

Dad took the opportunity of  putting in basically, a second floor, a loft over the expanded kitchen, laundry area and bathroom.  The area built on top cantilevered out.  He designed the second floor, with very artistic not straight up, but with a twist, so it would take less room.   The second floor had modern open beams.  He did all of the design, carpentry, electricity, plumbing and roofing, himself.  

I asked mom. "How did dad do it ?"  Now days, you can get online and find directions for building or doing almost anything and everything.  But how did Dad do it then, 70 years ago ?  Mom explained that at whatever stage of construction he was at, he would find some place where building activity was underway and carefully observe what they were doing, come home and apply it.  But how did he have the "guts"?  

Before the second floor was completed, with the roof and second floor in place, we were given permission to have a sleep-over with friends in the new room.  It was summer and we thought it would be fun to sleep on the roof under the stars. The roof was not too steep and being a hillside, the distance from the roof to the ground was not scary.   So we four climbed out and settled down on blankets.  Remember, we were Junior High.

The slant of the roof was sufficient for gravity to move us, and when we woke up in the morning,  our feet were dangling off the end of the roof.  I often wonder what could've happened.  Our folks gave us a lot of freedom, more credit for brains than we deserved, but I think angels were watching over us.  

Now that I reflect on life on Evergreen Street, I recall we had linoleum on the floors and did not have a rug in the front room, like some of my friends, or as my aunt and uncle, Deya and Rudy Amparan, had. I used to enjoy crossing the street and lying down on their thick rug and listen to music on their high-fi.  Uncle Rudy built it.

But my goodness, Dad had built a second floor. We were the only house with a second floor!!  The kids in the neighborhood enjoyed visiting and going up the stairs to our loft.  

Our multi-ethnic friends also enjoyed the birthday parities which we held in the backyard, which always included a Piñata. For our cousins and Mexican friends the Piñata was expected, but for our Russian Jewish friends, it was special. 

Mustard Hills When we first moved to East LA, the mustard hills behind the house was a perfect playground with all kinds of freedom. The oldest of all the cousins, Albert, "Al" Spaulding lived with Grandma and Grandpa Chapa.  Al   introduced us to the sport of catching trapdoor spiders.  Trapdoor spiders are fascinating.   They build their nest/home in the hard ground. They dig out and form a circular tube, straight down and line it with a white filament which they produce. From the outside, the door looks more like the shape of a horseshoe and that's what you look for when you are trapdoor spider hunting.  You can see if the house is occupied by their reaction when you attempt to  lift up of the trapdoor.   They are really strong, plus they have built their home with the door fitting so perfectly, they can close,  pull it down and seal it against the rain.    We always used a stick to pry it loose. If we persisted, the spider would escape down to the bottom of the nest.  Then with just a little bit of water we would put the stick against the side of the spiders' wall and start twisting. Soon you would have the spider and maybe some babies too, in a sack formed by the filament, and put them in a cigar box.

Another backyard adventure, was catching bees.  While the bee was busy collecting nectar, you would carefully squeeze the petals of a Morning Glory closed.  You could walk around hearing the angry bee, until you felt brave enough to turn it loose, fling the petal in the air and run in the opposite direction.  

As I reflect on our fun, it was obviously not good for the spiders. Sometimes they lived through our captivity and sometimes not, but the bees always did fine. 

Lessons while Across the Street 

The Bullets

Another thing that cousin Albert "Al" taught us.  What happens when you heat up a bullet.  One day in the middle of the day, Al built a small fire at my grandparents front yard.  He built it on top of cement, not dirt. I think the idea was for the cement to also get hot and heat the bullets from all sides.   He waited until the wood was red hot and threw some bullets into the fire. [I don't know where he got the bullets.]  

We bent over the fire see what was going to happen.  All of a sudden bullets were flying, and  we were jumping and screaming when we realized what was happening.   Al was laughing.  At that point, Grandpa came out on the porch, and waving his arms, screaming for us to "Gitense.  Gitense." 

I don't remember what punishment Beto received for being tonto, but Abuelito was not happy.  Al was the oldest and therefore totally responsible.  However, Beto was far from tonto.  

Mom said the principal at Evergreen Elementary School set up a conference call with his mom, Tía Estella. The principal wanted Tía to know that AL had an exceptionally brilliant mind and could be anything he wanted to be.  Unfortunately, Tía did not speak English well, and did not know how to mentor and help him reach his potential.  No one took him any further.  He had a great sense of humor, thought everything was funny, and saved stamps.  He could tell you about countries all over the world, and their histories too.   

Sadly, Al never did pursue an education.  He got involved with drugs and was picked up by the police while high.  The circumstances gave his life a different direction. In the agony of going through drug-with-drawl, cold turkey, he cried out to the Lord in pain.  

Al witnessed to me.  "Mimi, I said to the Lord either kill me, or take me . . and instantly the pain left me.  My body was completely washed clean of the drugs. I felt wonderful. "    His wife had died in a car accident when his son was an infant.  Tía Estella raised her grandson Ricardo, and Al  ended up a street evangelist.  In spite of what could have been, there was joy in his spirit.  I feel a sadness however, that his potential was never explored.  

I learned, even when it seemed unfair, the oldest child  was always held responsible by La familia for what took place among us kids. There was an experience with my youngest uncle that made that point. Uncle Albert had saved up money from a paper route to buy a bike. He was about 15 years old.  He wanted to give me a ride on his new bike. He was so proud of the bike that he had scrimped  and saved for. 

"Climb up on the handlebars." I was about eight, not familiar with bikes. The family was telling for him to be careful, and maybe it was better not to give me a ride, since I seemed afraid.  However, I wanted to be brave. I cautiously climbed on and grasped the handlebars on both sides of me,  firmly, resting my feet on the cover of the bike wheel. He rolled onto the street and all seem to be okay, at first, but then he started to pick up speed. The faster he went, the more afraid I got. 

I asked him slow down. I told him I wanted to get down. I told him to stop. He kept peddling, so . . . I stopped us. 
I slipped my left foot off the bike wheel cover and put my feet purposely in the turning spokes.

Of course it sent us crashing, heads over and  one of the spokes cut into my ankle. It was bleeding profusely, His beautiful bike was broken and he too was bleeding, looked like his head and elbow had hit. Grabbing his bike with one arm and holding on to me with his other we walked home, leaving a trail of blood, and me crying loudly..

La familia was standing out front. And, oh my, the commotion. All of them were yelling at my poor uncle. He was hurt, his new bike damaged and they were yelling at him. Yes, I was bleeding too and still carry a scar on my ankle. But, it was my fault. I was at fault. I had caused the accident.   He did not even once blame me in anyway and say that it was my fault. I felt so sorry for him.  He never complained to me and was never angry with me over the incident. He assumed as the older child, he WAS responsible.  But, I never entirely forgave myself.  He had so little of his own.

The Roof, Figs and the Bed
                                                                                            Mimi and cousin Albita with pigtails.
I learned the same lesson, in a different way, with a younger girl cousin.  Another life learning experience from across the street at grandma's house.  My cousin Alba "Alvita" Valdez. Alvita was two years younger than me. The family was visiting from Stockton. It was summer and the figs were their sweetest. The harder to reach, the  sweeter they were.   I felt it well worth the trouble to get those most difficult to reach.  My favorites were those above Grandma and Grandpa's bedroom.  

Mis Abuelitos house, directly across the street, was also on a hill, like our house on the right.  The bedrooms in the back of their house, were cut back into the hillside, with the bedroom window in the back almost level with the dirt.  

Without a ladder, the roof was easy to climb onto from outside.
I loved to get on the roof and eat the figs that overhung the bedroom roof.  

I told my cousin to step exactly where I was stepping. "Just follow me carefully. Step on the wood beams." Doing just that, I crossed over and pulled myself onto the roof, stepping slowly, deliberately across the roof. Suddenly I heard wood breaking and turned to see my cousin falling through the roof. My first thought was "Oh my God. I've killed my cousin. I've killed her."

I looked down the hole that she had made, expecting to see a broken body and blood. Instead, she was laying on her back on the middle of the bed,  and she looked like she was laughing. 

It is hard to describe the relief I felt.  I quickly scrambled down off the roof and rushed into the house. Grandma and grandpa were at her side, the bed had collapsed, but Alvita was fine.   

Years later when Alvita and I recalled the incident together. I told her of the relief that I felt when I looked and saw her laughing.                                                         

She said, "Mimi I wasn't laughing. I had the air knocked out of me  and I was trying to breathe, but your expression, your face, it was so funny, even when I couldn't breathe and I was trying to catch my breath, I still couldn't help but  laugh."

I'll bet my expression was funny. How do you assess the emotions of a situation in which you might have been the cause of someone's death, your dear, best friend cousin,  and instead see that person laughing. The guilt and relief all felt at the same moment was indescribable.

The most curious thing was that nobody yelled at us. No one complained about damage to the roof, or the broken bed. No one. Not a word was said by any of the answer uncles, no reprimands. No tontas . . . . . .  nothing.  I can only guess that they were all so relieved that Alvita had not been hurt. 

I did learn a very big lesson, being a leader is a very serious responsibility, in whatever field of leadership, the older, the more experienced, the more responsible.  

Our Big Back Yard  

Mom on the left, Aunt Alicia and Uncle Oscar Chapa, Aunt Deya  Amparan., my sister Tania, with her back to us, me on the right side with one of my little cousins, either Dena or Eric Chapa.
 
We had a very, very big backyard,  the back of our property went from Evergreen all the way back to the street behind us.  It was perfect for raising rabbits for food (tastes like dark chicken)  and a mama goat for milk.  The doctor had suggested goat milk would be a possible help to increase my growth.   Dad bought a goat who was pregnant and  soon after the two kids were born, Mom learned how to milk. Goat milk has a very strong smell, but 
it is okay if served very cold.  My sister Tania and I were assigned the task of gathering edible greenery from the Mustard Hills for the rabbits and the goats.  We would some times tether them, but all hell would break loose, if they escaped and delighted themselves with our neighbors' greenery.  Neighbors would start yelling and we would go running down the street  trying to catch them. 

The neighbor kids enjoyed our mini-farm (we were the only ones with rabbits in the neighborhood)  We also used to enjoy building fires in our backyard and roasting hot dogs, marshmallows, plus other things.   Sometimes, we would cover small potatoes with a layer of wet mud and bake them in the fire.    

We always were careful about digging a hole and putting rocks around the sides, plus a wide dirt ring. But we didn't look up.  It wasn't until the next day that we saw the damage that we had done. We had decided it would be nice to put our fire under a tree. However, the poor tree had suffered from the heat.  Just above where we had placed the fire circle, the leaves were browned and withered.  

During the summer when the grass was yellow and dry, we would make slides on the mustard hills. The slides could be really slick, smooth, and fast. All you needed to do was find some cardboards, long enough to sit on, or lie down on it. All the neighborhood kids work together, smoothing the weeds, now dry, repeatedly sliding down. To start out, it helped if a few kids were on the same cardboard, making it heavier and flattening out the pathway faster.

You never knew exactly what you were traveling over when breaking new trails. One summer, the weeds were still a little green and we started making some slides, in a new area of the mustard hills. Pushing  off we hit a big rock and most of us rolled off. Unfortunately, I rolled over broken glass, which took a chunk out of my elbow.  It happened so quickly I did not feel it.  My sister was crying and yelling and pointing to my arm.  I looked down and saw the blood running down my arm and dripping off my fingers.  The glass had cut down to what look like the bone, fortunately it had missed both tendons and muscle. 

I still have a very visible 2 inch scar . It probably would have been a smaller scar if I had been taken to the doctor.  But instead the entire family took over, parents,  grandparents,  aunts and uncles,  cousins. Somehow being at the center of all that concern stifled the pain. The wound was cleaned well, drenched in iodine (it stung) and bandaged.   Nothing given for pain.  You were just expected to toughen it out. Being on the elbow it took a long time to heal.   Fortunately it was my left elbow, or it could have affected my schoolwork.  

What I really regret about our affect on the mustard hills was breaking up crystal formations embedded in the earth. There were very large layers, beautiful, 5-8  inches tall. It  pains me to realize I destroyed some of nature's beauty.

It was many many years later, that the memory was stirred, as I went through the gem display at a county fair. Full quartz crystals, such as we had played with, were prominently displayed, just as the ones that we had  broken were on display.  The thoughtlessness of a child, destroying something permanently,  is sad to me.  I realize, it was out of ignorance, but still something I regret. Now with the internet, there is no excuse.  We can learn about everything.  Knowledge is at our fingertips.

Wabash Playground

Another learning social situation was the Wabash playground.  These associations were even more casual. You could play tetherball, basketball-horse, or baseball with anyone, boys or girls, all ages.  You could do crafts, or participate in a play.  I enjoyed playing the princess in one play and Santa Claus (with stomach stuffing and a beard) in another.  The public library was next door to the playground, where the Christmas programs were performed.  Although, the Wabash Playground was not large,  it had a wonderful selection of gymnastic equipment in place: horizontal bar, parallel bars, horse, and rings. Many on the Roosevelt High gymnastic team worked out on the Wabash Playground equipment on Saturdays and in the summer.  They never paid attention to us Hollenbeck Jr. High girls, but it was there that for the first time that I remember truly admiring the strength of boys.    The insight came while watching some of the high school boys working out on the rings. My sister and I were leaving the playground, but sensed something was  about to happen.   All of the boys were  focused on one of the boys, who was wrapping his wrists and chalking his hands.   Apparently he was going to try something.  Tania  and I  stopped.  It seemed that everyone was holding their breathe, and did so throughout the entire set. I know I did.  We watched as he executed a smooth sequence on the rings, ending perfectly in the Iron Cross.  When he finished, all of us inhaled together.   They obviously knew how difficult it was.  I grasped it. He wasn't in any uniform.  It was outside over sawdust. It was not fancy, just an East L.A. playground, but I was awed. I had just watched a flawless dance on the rings.  I realized fully, the mental and physical coordination and total control of the whole body required in the shoulders, arms, hands, torso, legs to perform the challenge, and it awed me.  Wow . . .   Each sport has its own challenges, but gymnastics is not battling others, rather it is controlling yourself.   Just as Los Angeles was quite ethnically diverse, so was the diversity of special interests among all these varied cultures in East LA, among the arts, clothes, foods, hair, holidays, dance, music, physical competition, cars.  I think the popularity, growth, and effect of the Pachuco culture in Los Angeles further complicated the social scene for Latino youth, and non-Latino groups, as well.

Hollenbeck Jr. High School Glee Club

Of all the birthday parties that I attended during Junior High, there is one that I have never forgotten.  It was the sadness and painful memory that the hostess must have carried for the rest of her life. 

One of the girls in the Hollenbeck Jr. High School Girls' Glee Club decided to celebrate her  16th birthday by hosting a birthday party. She invited all the girls in the Glee Club. She distributed the invitations at school.  She was a classmate, but she did not live in my neighborhood.  I had to take public transportation and  arrived gift in hand. 

All was quiet. No one was there, except the hostess and her next-door neighbor friend.. We waited. It got late, but no one else came.  It soon became apparent that no one else was coming. The girl got quieter and quieter. The games that had been planned, the food, the cake, and the expression on the mother's face was so sad. The mother was weeping inside, hurting deeply for her daughter disappointment. Her daughter had expected everyone from the glee club to come. It was her special interest group, but I was the only one who came.  

I was so disappointed and upset for her.  Obviously, she was not aware of how her classmates felt about her.  She was quite loud, pushy and interrupted people. Her sense of humor was also quite hurtful. She was in the habit of making critical, caustic remarks, many times as indirect offhanded remarks. It was obvious, she had not understood how she had affected the members of the Glee Club.  She had not put herself into their shoes.

I wondered on Monday how she would be. I watched her as she came in. She did not greet anyone, not even me. She sat down quietly. Made no comments during the whole period, and left at the end of the class in the same way. That became her practice for the rest of the semester.   I imagine her confusion about what she experienced within the Glee Club social interaction, and dynamics carried over into all her other classes. 

She had not learned to read the social situation and interact successfully.  She must have doubted herself entirely. I wonder if she carried the sense of rejection throughout her life.  The hard lesson surely came at a tender age.   I wonder if she ever put the pieces together and learned social skills from the hurt and painful lesson.  I wonder if she ever learned to relate to the feelings of other people.  I hope so.

I know the experience affected me. I try extra hard to observe group dynamics and group interaction, to see of someone is on the fringe and needs to be included.