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Chapter 28: Life with the cousins8 people in a small house - and plenty of love for allBy Carmen DuarteThe Arizona Daily Star I don't remember much about moving from our two-room adobe house on South 16th Avenue to Grandma's one-bedroom house on West President in 1961.
But I do remember that indoor toilet, tub and shower. I thought that was great stuff. I was smart - even at age 5. The house had a large porch and rosebushes in front. Three orange trees with white blossoms perfumed the air, and lilies stretched along one end of the fence. Shade trees and a red oleander bush lined the other side of the yard. In the back yard there was a large grapevine and apricot, apple, peach and pomegranate trees. I have a vivid memory of sitting on a red velvet sofa in that house soon after moving in. I was watching television with Mama. She had her arm around me. Then my younger cousins, Jaime and Richard, tried to nudge in. I remember clinging tightly to Mama and getting jealous. Mama laughed and hugged my cousins. I learned Mama had enough love for all of us, and still some. Good thing. There were wall-to-wall people in that house - eight of us. At night bodies stretched out everywhere - in the single bedroom, in the living room and in the kitchen. At various times, I slept in Mama's bed, on the couch and on a rollaway bed. In summer, I would take my pillow and lie on the cement floor under the kitchen table. It was nice and cool.
The aroma of chorizo con huevos, frijoles, papas and tortillas awakened me on more mornings than I can remember. It would be dark outside when Mama began making breakfast and lunches for all of us before we headed to the fields. On school days, of course, she headed to the fields and we did our jobs - getting an education. On Mondays, Mama began her day at 2 a.m. because that was washday. The Maytag wringer washer danced in the back yard as it cleaned pants, shirts, blouses, dresses and underwear. The nine clotheslines that spanned the back yard were filled by the time Mama finished. When we were preschool age, or during summer holidays and on Saturdays, we all headed out before sunup to hoe or pick cotton. During the summers, we cleared the fields of weeds. I did little of that because I suffered from severe allergies. In the fall and winter, we picked cotton. We stood around campfires to keep warm until the dew dried on the cotton plants. When the picking began, people talked about their lives and laughed. Others sang.
We earned enough money to eat, and Mama saved money to use toward buying clothes and shoes for us younger ones. During the summer months, the older cousins, Raúl and Irene, worked 10-hour days, except on Saturday when the crews were off at noon. Then they came home full of energy - ready to dance. We little kids often entertained ourselves by watching Raúl and Irene get ready to go out. Raúl would sing pop tunes - ``The Twist,'' ``Sherry'' - as he ironed his khaki pants. He had a good voice and played and sang in a band called The Nomads. But he'd make us laugh by singing high notes for the bass parts and vice versa. Raúl was meticulous. His khakis had to have one sharp, straight crease down the middle of the pant leg. A double crease was deadly, and he would start over if one appeared. Then he'd get the tin container of Shinola, and wax and spit, brush and buff until you could see your reflection in his black shoes. Next came his jet black hair. He rubbed in the hair cream and combed and combed until he had a perfect ducktail at the nape of his neck and a strand of hair falling just-so onto his forehead. Irene had just as good a time, and it was fun seeing her and my cousin Rosie, who often visited from Morenci in summer, get dressed for their night out. They'd put their hair up in pink and green rollers hours before. The two would tease and wear their hair in a flip or French roll. They used tons of hair spray. Before the dresses went on came the girdle race - my favorite part. Irene and Rosie would pull and pull the elastic contraptions, howling as they reached their waistlines. I remember I was in eighth grade when I wore my first girdle with stockings. It wasn't bad, but as I got older and wider . . . forget it. I'd rather breathe than wear a tourniquet. What women go through to impress a man. Not this chica. I like food. Heck, there are plenty of good men who love food, and I don't see them wearing girdles. While my older cousins danced, Mama kept us four younger ones occupied at home playing poker for pennies and eating popcorn with Red Devil hot sauce. Then we'd stay up late watching spooky movies on ``Chiller.'' We'd still have to wake up for 6 a.m. Mass at St. John's. Sundays were special. We'd go on drives, hike in the desert or picnic in Madera Canyon. Another Sunday favorite was visiting different churches in Southern Arizona. Mama would go in and pray while we kids checked out the towns of Vail, Naco, St. David, Nogales and Douglas. Irene and I laughed a lot and cried a lot remembering these times. ``Those are good memories, very good memories.'' Irene says. Those are very good memories, my cousin, my sister. It was so much fun, I didn't realize we were poor until I was much older.
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Ch. 1: Field of death
Ch. 18: The New Deal
Ch. 24: Cotton pickers and copper miners Ch. 27: The family doubles its size
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