Daddy quit school aftercompleting the 8th grade. He said it was very tough following two brothers that were rather rambunctious. He went into painting and gold leafing with his father.
He told us of stories doing painting jobs in Chinatown and how Chinatown was a maze of cellars and basements going from one to the other. There were opium dens in some of these cellars. They had bunks 2 or 3 high and there would be Chinamen lying in them smoking their opium pipes, off in their own little worlds. Life was hard for the Chinese when they first started coming here. They were smuggled over on boats. Packed in like sardines. When they would arrive, they would anchor out aways until they could smuggle their illegal passengers into San Francisco. Patrol boats that saw suspicious looking boats off the coast would go out to check them out. The illegals would be dumped, tied up, overboard.
The Chinese that did make it onto shore received a lot of harassment. They wore a pigtail and it was never to be cut. Ruffians would stop these Chinese on the street and cut off their pigtail to shame them.
He also told us about the horse drawn carts, like the milk wagons and beer wagons, clop clop clopping along the cobblestone streets. Anything that fell out was fair game for the kids in the street.
My father's older brother, Camille, had a good friend, one of the Gianini boys. After the earthquake Gianini wanted to help the Italians rebuild their lives and he started loaning them money. My Aunt Tillie helped with the book work. They witnessed the birth of the Bank of Italy which later became the bank of America.
We went driving everywhere with Daddy and everywhere we went he would say I was on this road when it was the "old" road. He would point out sections of the "old" road that would be visible in spite of progress widening and straightening out the adventuresome curves and dips. Daddy was a talker and an explainer of everything. He was a very good man and very fun to be with. I love to say to my grandkids, I was on that road when it was the "old" road and I hear my fathers voice in my ears.
I remember when we would leave Aunt Tillie's or Uncle Dolph's to go back to the Villa. Everyone would stay on the porch, waving to us as we drove away. Carol and I would be in the back seat, on our knees, waving back thru the window until they were out of sight. Even now I am compelled to see the kids out and stand on the porch as they drive away ... and I always wave and remember
I remember Uncle Nandi coming down to see us. He would always be smoking a cigar, but he would save the paper cigar-ring for me and would slip it on my finger. I loved that.
He would sit in a chair, smoking his cigar, and let his hand drop to the side, where I would take a puff of the cigar. That was really neat.
I remember when I was in Kindergarten or first grade. When I would come home, Mama would be waiting for me and we would race home, up the back alley.
A depression story I remember Tom's folks telling me was quite unusual. Fresh baked bread was home-delivered early each morning. But, soon, the Costantino bread was disappearing. So one night, Leonardo and Palma stayed up all night, watching the front porch. Early in the morning, after the bread was delivered, a man came by. He had a dog that was trained to search out the loaves of bread, snatch them up and bring them to his master.
Hi Nancy,I keep learning new things about the family. You asked for a memory. The one I have is you and Carol spending week-ends with us in Yorba Linda and going for rides in the convertible. I always looked forward to visits.
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