Will in November

Moments from November- a week in Arvin, Lamont & Weedpatch

Monday-  Playing pool with men at the Rasmussen Senior Center in Oildale in the morning. Men in their seventies and one in their eighties. Okies. A sign on the door that says, “No one under age 65 is allowed to play pool.” Don Burkett telling me about his father who led a strike at Digiorgio Farm (“He was fired right away. A few people were arrested for vandalism for cutting down trees. And there were many people who wanted jobs who took their place”).
Dinner at the home of Manuel and Maria Garcia, parents of Gabriel Garcia. Her warmth and her elegance remind me of my grandmother, and I feel very welcomed by both of them. They were raised in Mexico and left school after sixth grade to work in the fields there, and have lived in the U.S. for decades. I ate two burritos at the gas station burrito place before coming (again saw the friendly neighborhood drug dealer; he pulled weed out of his pocket in front of the burrito counter to demonstrate its quality) and I am totally stuffed, but I can’t say no; I even have seconds. After dinner, a conversation with Manuel, Maria, and Mauro Lopez, Gabriel’s brother-in-law who joins us after dinner – bringing the last grapes of the season, which are particularly sweet.
Tuesday-  Gabriel tells me a story about a trip to Mexico when he was young, and how his dad got lost (his mom, sitting beside us, insists he wasn’t), and how he and his brother sat tight in the back seat of the truck playing hand-held video games, and how long you can go in Mexico without a gas station, and how afraid they were that they would run out of gas. He says that the truck was filled with household supplies and gifts for people in Mexico, and I am struck with the parallels to the story of Bob England, Dust Bowl street kid who now goes to Mexico every year with a truck filled with supplies for local orphans in the village where he lives part-time.
At the Board of Supervisors meeting for Community Recycling which ended (after I left – it lasted from 2 pm – 10 pm) with the Supervisors closing the plant and fining them $2.3 million. It took a half an hour for the person from the County staff to list all their past violations. After two brothers died in the plant, and Cal-OSHA ordered plant operators to stay away from the tunnel where they died, Community Recycling let people go inside it 5 times, presumably to clean up evidence. So much happened at the hearing, from a white man in a red cowboy s man arguing that the plant shouldn’t be closed for ‘political posturing’ while simultaneously honoring the undocumented immigrants who work there; to the guy who sells Community Recycling’s uniforms talking about the growth of the company (“I am the guy who sells their uniforms so I know they are expanding”); to Supervisor Goh greeting the family of the deceased men like a politician at a funeral; to an elegantly dressed Chicana woman threatening to recall the Supervisors if they kept the plant open; to the city of Lamont saying that if the plant is closed, waste water from the city would have to poured into the street ‘in 45 days’; to people lamenting the potential loss of over 130 jobs if the plant were to close; to many people talking about the many false promises made by the company over many years. At the break, I notice that the men’s bathroom line is much longer than the women’s, and it strikes me when I come back inside that the hearing room is made up almost entirely men, almost all Mexican or Mexican American; working faces asking for justice.

I watch Gabriel and Kat (she participated in CSU's 2011 Summer Arts Cornerstone workshop, too) perform in a student-directed production of the ‘Laramie Project’ at CSUB in the evening. The play’s tenderness and the tenderness with which the company depicts the community of Laramie moves me. I hope that I can muster up some of that grace.
Wednesday-  Gabriel tells me that the family of a friend from CSUB has been deported. He is a senior and a drama major. He was in the process of applying to Yale Drama – but he left school in his senior year, and no one knew why. Gabriel just found out. His parents and his sister were deported, and he has had to leave school to work. Gabriel tells me that he acted in a play in the friend’s back yard last summer, and what a normal, warm house it is; and the family had been here for decades.
I talk with a local resident who tells me that his wife has just had a miscarriage. He asks me, “I think it’s from the pollution here. What do you think?”
I meet with Javier Arreola, who has agreed to be our translator. He tells me about his work with the UFW, which he has both enormous respect for and also enormous bitterness for. According to him, “the movement is a corporation” and it became a kind of idol-worship that lost its way, and descended into infighting and intermarrying after (and before) Cesar Chavez’s death. He also talks about the police in Arvin, which used to beat up Hispanic men just because of the color of their skin (“Marx would call the police part of the repressive apparatus”), and a rumor he heard twice about helicopters dropping off drugs in the fields that were then distributed to street gangs. During the height of the conversation (in the nearly empty Starbucks in Bakersfield), when he is sharing the most difficult things about the UFW, he ask that we sit outside because of who might be listening.  Javier is carrying a print out: a marked up, English/Spanish grammar book which he is writing in his spare time.
Thursday-  I have breakfast at 6:45am at the Westchester Bowling Alley in Bakersfield with 10-12 men from Okie stock who have been friends for many decades. After Don Burkett gives me a warm and slightly tongue-in- cheek introduction, I tell them about our play, and about how I’d like to tell the story about the waves of migration, including Okies and contemporary Mexican and Mexican-American migrants. Almost before I’ve finished the sentence, Reford Hutson says “The main difference is that they’re illegal.” Barney

Meyer tells me the story of his mixed race parents (Mexican and Okie), and how they met and when Spanish was spoken at the home (“W.C. did you know any of this before?” “No!” “Me neither” “Why didn’t we ask?” “Cause we didn’t care!”). Later, Barney asks how Mexican people with many children can afford so many Quincineras, and recommends that they stop having Quincinieras (“They should be American!”) Outside, he tells me the story of his grandson who used to beat up white kids and who has embraced his Chicano heritage by giving his kids Mexican names (clearly confusing to Barney). W.C. Stampes tells me about talking to a Mexican-American Marine veteran, saying, “When you guys take over, my name is pronounced Stampiez (ie, with a Latino pronunciation). The word ‘wetback’ floats from the end of the table.  Also, stories of Dr. Desmet, the legendary doctor at Digiorgio farms who ‘wasn’t big on anesthesia”. Conversation about overalls (“We took them off as soon as we got here, because they identified us as Okie”); about the lack of rubber during the war, and the attempt (too late) to grow it in Arvin; and a warm feeling of male camaraderie, familiar, aggressive in a loving way.
After breakfast, playing pool at the Rasmussen Senior Center and more talk with W.C. about his political views. When I tell him that I saw at Dust Bowl Days that Fred Ross (a leading mentor for Cesar Chavez) worked at Weedpatch, he says, “If we knew that, we’d have thrown him under the bus.” His view about the UFW is that people were whining. “I picked cotton under when I was 12. Taller than my head. No one ever died of heat exhaustion back then. They died of heat exhaustion because they were drinking too much the night before.” He also expresses his anger for the UFW picketing in front of Weedpatch and barring people who wanted to work from working; he remembers driving by the picket lines and seeing a picketer take up a rock to throw at his car, and that he’s “trying to be saved” otherwise he couldn’t have controlled his anger. Larry Hallum adds, “We had a good deal. We wanted to work. And the farmers had jobs. So it worked out for both of us.” W.C. is just getting warmed up, and he talks about education, home schooling (“I gotta unload.”) It goes on and on. I finally interject when he starts talking about Armageddon and gay people, (“I have many friends who are gay and they are strong, loving couples,” I respond. W.C.: “We have a nephew who is gay and we go to church and pray for him.”) Yet, even amidst the comments which I clearly don’t like (later he refers to Woody Guthrie and those other communists and I say “My people!”), but there is a respect in our exchange, even in the disagreement; maybe because I respect so deeply what he and his folks did to make a life for themselves, and he feels that; or maybe just because I am listening, and there is respect inherent in that.
After playing pool, I visit Evergreen Senior Center and meet Millie Gibson, at 101 possibly the oldest living Dust Bowl Migrant. I sit and listen to her very lucid stories about coming west (she came in the forties because of flooding on her land so, technically, not a Dust Bowl migrant), sitting beside her son Bob. An amazing story about the journey west, settling at Weedpatch, continually punctuated by expressions of gratitude for God and for California, and how happy her life was (And a disagreement between her and Bob about where she sat in the truck. He says she sat in the cab with three other adults, she insists she sat in the back with 13 kids, from two families). On the way out, I talk to Bob, who tells me that his half-Cherokee father was fluent in the Cherokee language and once brought him to visit the former home of the famed Oklahoma outlaw Belle Star. When I say to him how amazing it is that his mother is so happy and so grateful for her life, he says, “Well, we never had any hard times.”

After Evergreen, I drive up the road to Tehachapi to La Paz, the current home of the UFW. There is an amazing photo exhibit there of the movement, as well as the untouched office of Cesar Chavez, almost like a shrine. It’s incredible to see in the photos the faces of working people, clearly farm workers, and the raw spirit of fighting against enormous power; pride; Cesar Chavez clearly very poor himself; Luis Valdez and early scenes of el Teatro; joy, celebration, power.
On the way back, from La Paz, I drive down the winding road that Dust Bowl migrants drove down just before the valley opened up to the lushness of the fields below. I remember vividly Nellie Oldham’s story of coming down that hill as a little girl, arriving in the spring, and seeing the blossoms exploding with color - in stark contrast to the brown, dry landscape that she had left behind. I stop by the home of Mauro Lopez and we watch (first in Spanish and then in English) the incredibly inspiring film “Fighting for our Lives” about mid-1973, when the battles of the UFW was at its most violent (two farm workers died that year). Afterward, we talk about if that movement could be possible now, a discussion we’ve had before (when I asked him that when we were working in the fields, he said, “No, and it’s our own fault. Because people will just take our place”). Today, he says, “I used to be a member, but I can’t afford the $30.” And when I tell him about the nice buildings at the UFW headquarters, he says, “and I’m afraid that’s where my $30 would go.” Mauro also tells me about how, back in the day, police would be waiting at 5:30 a.m. at the 7/11 and at local gas stations to harass Mexican men. I need to revisit this conversation with a translator, because an enormous amount of nuance was lost. Mauro also tells me how hard it is now to make a living by working in the fields, how one can barely stay ahead of the bills. I wonder: how were Gabriel’s parents able to buy 2 (3?) homes doing the same? What has changed?
At Karaoke night at Bear Mountain Pizza where I sang “Un Dia a La Vez” (badly), at owner Manuel Pantoja’s request (Luckily, someone agreed to sing it with me). After, the singer and his friends welcom me warmly to their table, especially Javi, who is a Teacher’s Aide at the Sunset School. We drink Clamato mixed with beer and salt. I tell them about the play, and they say they’d love to help (one woman at the table said, ‘we’ll welcome you this way’ and made a gesture I couldn’t quite see, at which point Javi said ‘don’t be perverted!”) They ae all in their mid-twenties. Maybe a microcosm of young Arvin/Weedpatch/Lamont? One person who used to work in the oil fields but lost that job and is now working the grape lines alongside his mother; a second, who is working as a dump truck driver at Community Recycling, set to close in 90 days, (“they have so much money, and so many properties, a $2.3 million fine won’t hurt, and they’ll just move their business to another county. The people who will really suffer are those who are losing our jobs.”); Javi, who works as a teacher’s aide and used to work at a bank before being laid off; a woman beside her (“my life ain’t about nuthin”). I ask them if we got together all the people their age in the area and asked how many people do drugs, what would the answer (“The majority. Most of the people at this table do coke” the woman says). When they sign the info sheet, all of them put “drunk” in the column marked “additional interests”
Friday
Interviewed Nelda Oldham, 84, at her trailer in a quiet senior trailer park in Bakersfield. She lived at Weedpatch when John Steinbeck was there, although they never met. Later, she became the head of the Housing Authority, and speaks with a refined grammar that belies education and an inquisitive mind

(she tells me that she only recently read The Grapes of Wrath, although she had read Cannery Row, of Mice and Men, and others. She said, despite how angry everyone was about the book, and despite the fact that he invented some parts just for dramatic effect, he ‘ mostly got it right’). She tells me about leaving Oklahoma, about their drive, about the games she played with other kids in Weedpatch, and the singing group that she and other two girl friends formed at the camp. Perhaps because she worked at the Housing Authority, she has a great deal of sympathy for current migrants, and she does see the connections between her life and theirs. She does not have a lot of respect for Cesar Chavez (“From what I understand, he was too lazy to work, so he hung around the pool halls and listened to folks and that’s where he got his ideas.”) This may be partly to do with her relationships with farmers, who she respected and she felt always respected the Okies – maybe because they shared an immigrant background , as she says– and whom she stayed in touch with. I’d like to learn about the results of the strikes in the farms (A story I have heard is that many farms shut down in the wake of UFW strikes, but my instinct is that was because of larger economic forces outside the farms). At the end of the interview, she describes the lushness of the fields in the hills coming into Arvin, which were filled with wild flowers. She shows me a picture of her brother and sister one year after coming to Arvin, hands filled with flowers almost as big as them.
Later, I watch a youth soccer league, founded by man named Ben, who immigrated to Arvin from Belize. I am watching the game because Mauro, Gabriel Garcia’s brother-in-law, is one of the coaches. During the game, I talk to Mauro’s daughter her about her dad, who I know was a single dad for part of her and her sisters’ childhood (Mauro told me this the day that I worked beside him in the fields; he worked in the fields and raised them alone. It’s one of the reasons he is so sympathetic to single mother farm workers). His daughter tells me how proud of her dad she is for raising them alone. After the game, I speak to the father of a player who has lived here for decades, become a citizen, and at one point tried moving to Texas but moved back (“The pay was better, but here in Arvin are people I’ve known my whole life. Don Chavo over there, if I ever needed money, he’d give it to me.”) Speaking about how white people view field work, he says with anger and a tinge of sadness: “They don’t like us. But nobody else will do this work. It’s like the movie, ‘A Day without Mexicans’. They can’t live without us. But they don’t like us.”
After the game, I talk to Lucy, Gabriel’s sister, who works in a truck stop at the intersection of route 99 and highway 5. We are talking about their parents, and how amazed I am by their kindness and generosity, and she explains that during part of their childhood they had 13 people living in the house – and that her mom would come home, cook dinner for everyone, cook lunch for the next day for people working in the fields. According to Lucy, “We live our lives with a clock in our hands.”
Saturday
Paula, I, and Gabriel meet with youth members of South Kern Sol, a youth media team that writes health-related articles for New America Media. When I arrive, Paula is in a circle of “Amazons,” young women both in South Kern Sol and in a group sponsored by the Dolores Huerta Foundation. They are

leaving to go to LA for an exhibit. We sit with the young people who remain in Arvin, along with Luz Pena, their mentor and journalism teacher. The young people talk about the details of their life, often interspersing the mundane details of young adult life (going to school, the Super Wienie truck) with the challenges of Arvin (the smell of pesticide in the morning, gangs). I am moved in particular by the ways in which the descriptions of their morning routines are told against the backdrop of the fields (outside their windows, outside the school bus), and by a particular comment by Pablo, who earlier has said that “although he wears red, gangs don’t bother him because he’s an Emo kid”. Pablo describes the nicer houses with families with more money that stand just on the other side of his: “And I see that house. And I wish I could live in it. But I can’t.”
Afterward, we walk down the block where a group from the Dolores Huerta Foundation is painting an outdoor mural. We speak with Jesus, a leader of the youth group who many of the young people in South Kern Sol look up to. He is a student at Bakersfield College, studying philosophy. He tells me his dream is to be a Coordinator at Dolores Huerta, or maybe a teacher, and we talk about Descartes in front of images of Olmec and Aztez history.
Paula, I, and Gabriel have lunch at the diner in Lamont, then go to visit Gabriel’s family where we have lunch again. At their house is Gabriel’s aunt, filled with energy and an infectious sense of humor. She tells me that “if we need two viejitas” in the play, they are ready. While we are there, Gabriel’s brother David is cleaning the fish tank. He dreams of being a botanist (he is trying to collect every kind of Aloe to cross-pollinate them). We tell him on our way out that we’ll try to introduce him to the CRPE activist who is starting an organic garden in Arvin, possibly linked to South Central Farms.
They say that I am welcome to stay there any time. Their generosity carries us out the door, even though I eat too much and actually get sick on the way home – not sure if it’s the excessive food, the water (which no one drinks), air (the worst in the nation), or the contradictory emotions the stories of the week have left me with. But it is the warmth and hospitality of Gabriel’s family that carry me up the Grapevine.

Will in Arvin in October pt 2

CSTONE NOTES

Will MacAdams

10/23/11

Housing Ideas

I saw Supervisor Goh at the football game, and she suggested that we think about Grimmway Academy as a Plan B for housing.  It’s a brand-new, million dollar charter school a few blocks from the high school.   I met the Principal, Jose Salas, at the Crab Dinner, and he just came from spending 8 years running a charter school in Pacoima.  I told him about Cornerstone’s work in Pacoima and gave him the flyer.  I did not mention the need for housing.  More info at:

I also spoke to Assemblywoman Shannon Grove, through an introduction of Supervisor Goh.  She is close with Barbara Grimm-Marshall, the founder and funder of the school. 

As a side note, I should add that Grimmway Farms (which is where the money for the school comes from) is a huge, international  farm and the area’s largest employer – and many of the stories I am hearing are about the struggles of workers (in both the Dust Bowl and now) and also how large farms like Grimmway have made small farmers disappear.  If we go that route, I would need your guidance about how I can make sure that I keep staying true to the voices I am hearing, even if they are in conflict with the interests of a large farm such as Grimmway.

A bit less realistic, but since it came up. The Property Manager at Weedpatch, mentioned that unlike in the past, the housing there is not full even during the height of the season.  I did see the inside of the units, and they’re actually quite nice.   I don’t know how  many units are vacant, and what size (I believe that they have 2 and 3 bedroom units) but just to know.

Translator

My Spanish is proficient (at best), but not enough to catch the subtleties of an interview.  Gabriel and Danny are both wonderful (Gabriel conducted an amazing interview at Weedpatch, and Danny has a natural sense of openness that encourages stories) but both of their time is limited.  I am going to reach out to Luz Peña, who works with the Boys and Girls Club to conduct oral histories, and who has video equipment to do so, to see if they would like to be a partner on the interview process – could be a great way to build local capacity and make the interviews part of a local archive – but that is just a possibility.  Amerika Niño at the Boys and Girls Club of Kern County – the adult coordinator of the program - met Ashley and was so excited that we followed up by attending the meeting, and really likes what we’re up to).  There is also a great local translator I met (he did simultaneously translation for the BuildingHealthy Communities South Kern public meeting) but that is his profession.  I would love to brainstorm about this as it is the biggest challenge of the work so far.

Economic Impact

I have been  thinking a lot about the levels of unemployment in the area, and the level of poverty generally, and had some questions about our economic  impact.  I think some of this may be crossing a line in terms of my role, but it’s something I feel very passionate about so wanted to do so.  It’s also in the context of my awareness that our deepest impact will not be economic, but in the legacy of community we help foster.

·       Is it possible for us to provide a stipend to the community actors in the show?  Even a modest amount would go a long way in terms of supporting basic needs of community folks, which are enormous.   It would create different challenges, of course (i.e., people auditioning just for the money) but I think it’s something to discuss.

·       Can we keep track of the money we spend in the area between now and the show? I am keeping my receipts, and I wonder if we can ask everyone involved with the show (voluntarily, and anonymously) to share how much they spent on food, gas, etc.  I would even include that in the survey for audience members – again, anonymously.   I think the dollar amount we will directly put into the local economy over the next 9 months will be significant – and being able to define that specifically would help leverage the support of future communities.

Gangs

I heard a number of contradictory thing about Arvin gangs.  There is an understated quality of them that I found surprising and I think worth talking about.

Will in Arvin in October

SATURDAY

On Saturday, I visited the 2011 Dust Bowl Festival at Sunset School, which sits beside the Arvin Migrant Center, along with Paula &  Mark V.  It was a large festival with a cafeteria filled with exhibits of photographs and articles; food booths; exhibits of cotton and potato sacks; an old car dressed as if in the Dust Bowl; live music; and a play at the end of the day.  Highlights included:

·       A conversation with Bob England, born in 1944 to an Oki family and a self-described ‘tramp of Arvin’ as his father was an alcoholic and in jail and in road houses, and his mother left them when he was around 10.  He later joined the military, and then worked in envirohazard monitoring and now splits his time between Bakersfield, Lake Isabella, and Mexico.  He is uniquely able to describe different words: of poor kids and wealthy, and of Mexico and the U.S. (he described being in Mexico and meeting a man named Juan Mejia who, in his childhood, had worked in the potato shed while he worked in the fields.  He also described that his mother would park their car on the dirt beside the fields and draw a circle around the car with a stick, and that he and his younger sisters had to stay in the car or inside the circle until age 7, when they ‘got to pick’; he was so excited to get out of the car, partly because he had to change diapers and feed them).  His words are incredibly honest and detailed, and filled with humor, pain, sadness, strength, and provocation but all in a single tone, as Paula noted.  All in all, there is a generosity about him that is very moving.  I visited him on Sunday at his home (see below)

·       Conversations with Larry B. and Shirley J. Underwood, a very lively couple who talked about briefly working in the fields.  Mark V. talked to them in more detail, but they were very excited and open and seem like potential actors for the play. 

·       A brief conversation with Nelda Oldham, 84 years old, who was living at the migrant camps when John Steinbeck came to do research for Grapes of Wrath.  She doesn’t remember meeting him, but said she’d be open to talking further.  Her son writes for Variety (I believe) in LA.

·       A conversation with WC Stampes, who went to the school at the camps when they had an airplane in the back that was used as a classroom.  He showed me a camp manager’s report, which included reports on employment, illness, demographic information about residents, and other details of life in the camp, which I will try to copy before I leave

·       A visit to the old community room at the camp.  It is filled with old objects and the spirit surrounding them.   I suggested that it might be a great place to do a ‘teaser’ for the show for the residents, as a way to encourage folks to come down to Arvin to see it.

·       A conversation with Earl Shelton, who came West with his family and got stuck in Arizona because three of their tires were ‘down to the rim.’  He said that they drove two days and nights and I imagined the physical strength and necessity motivating the driver, and what it must have felt like for a little boy to wake up in the middle of the night and look out at the stars.

·       A production of ‘Children of the Dustbowl’ a lovely readers theater production based on a book of the same name, and which featured very good  music: guitar, accordion, and banjo.  The group is largely made up of one family (Dyanne Durr directed it and two of the three musicians were her children).  Dyanne also has done a musical adaptation of Woodie Guthrie, is a descendant of a Dust Bowl migrants, and teaches at local colleges.  She was very excited to learn about the possibility of a Cornerstone play coming to the area.

SUNDAY

I began Sunday by visiting a Spanish-speaking church on the North side of Arvin (Primera Iglesia Bautista), which is generally the poorer side of town, as noted in Ashley’s report.  It was a large room that seats about 200, spare and with beautiful simple multi-colored glass windows.  There were about 15 congregants, mostly bi-lingual, although the Bible Study was all in Spanish (my Spanish is good enough for simple conversations, and to tell folks about Cornerstone and what the goals are for the project, as well as my own background; a lot of the service I didn’t follow).  Afterward, I spoke to the Pastor who told me he lives in Bakersfield but his church sent him down here to increase the size of the congregation.

It was a sleepy Sunday, with the streets mostly empty and many of the stores closed.  I visited a party supply store and spoke to the owner about the community.  He didn’t speak English, but we talked for a while about his history in the area.  He said that it is very hard to find jobs here, unless you work in the fields, and so many young people leave the area. He told me that there had been an accident at a nearby plant, and that two area young people had been killed.  Paula and Mark said that that they had seen a protest about the same thing the day before. 

Later, I bought a newspaper and found more details: On October 12, Armando Ramirez (from Arvin), a worker at the Community Recycling and Resource Co. (near Lamont) entered into a cement drainage tunnel and died from exposure to toxic fumes. Armando was 16 and was working under papers that said he was 30.  His brother, Eladio, who was twenty-two, went in to rescue him and passed out.  He was taken into the hospital and died on Saturday.   According to one report I read ‘the two brothers had recently complained to family members about strong odors at the facility and they had been given only painters’ masks to protect them from the fumes’. (www.wasterecyclingnews.com  10/14).  Cal-OSHA and the US Department of Labor are investigating.    The plant composts organic waste from items such as produce from grocery stores and tree trimmings. 

My instinct about how to respond to such an enormous tragedy in the heart of the community we’re thinking about working in is to wait.  I cannot fathom the sense of loss and outrage, and I don’t know what kind of investigation is happening.  At the same time, it’s impossible not to be shaken by it, and also not to see it in the context of the stories of Dust Bowl workers I had just heard the day before. 

Later in the day, on the advice of the owner of the Party Supply store, I visited the Becerra Family Store.  His store cashes checks, and also sells cowboy hats and shoes.  Pablo (he didn’t give his last name, but I believe it is Becerra) is in his eighties and has lived in Arvin most of his life (he moved from Mexico when he was young).  He told me about working for Digiorgio Farms (which employed thousands of people in the 30s and 40s- Bob England and his family also worked there).  He’s a warm, generous man and I think will be a wonderful resource.  By the gestures and smiles of the people who walked by as we were talking, he seems like a pillar in the community.  He couldn’t talk much, but he invited me to come back later this week to talk more about the history of Arvin.

I ended the day by visiting the home of Bob England, in Bakersfield.  As I got there, he literally had an engine for a Model A Ford on a harness that he was installing (photo above – the Model A was the preferred car for Okis moving west).  His lot is an array of woodpiles, car parts, and cars.  He says he owns (I believe) 45 cars.   NOTE: When I asked him if we could use one of his cars for the play, he said yes.  He also said that if we break down the set and have extra lumber he would take it off our hands.

Our conversation was long and detailed.  I recorded about an hour of particularly strong stories.  He said that if we do a play without talking about movie theaters in Arvin, we’d be missing the story (The Rancho was for white audiences, there was another movie theater for Mexican audiences – Bob lived in a largely Mexican neighborhood, and would tramp out front of the white theater and get free admission).  He also told the story of living with his grandmother in a two room shack with his siblings after his father was in jail and his mother had left them.  He described a Christmas tree in their home, which their grandmother brought them one year: tumbleweed decorated with Christmas icicles.

NEXT STEPS

Contact the folks at the Arvin Migrant Center to see about meeting with residents

Calling ‘Building Healthy Communities’ (Funded by the California Endowment) about attending a meeting at the Sunset School on Thursday night (see attached)

Follow up with contacts of Bob England, especially Charlotte Davis, who runs the Savings and Thrift in Arvin

Calling Nelda Oldham, WC Stampes, and Nazar Kooner

Bringing Cornerstone flyers to folks in the downtown Arvin business community

photos: AHS Auditorium

Principal Carlos Sardó was so eager for Cornerstone to be hosted at ASH, he brought us right over to see the theater. Here he is onstage with Michael John Garcés and Will MacAdams.

AHS auditorium has about 900 seats! And the floor of the house is raked toward the stage.

It's possible we will use the space in a less conventional set-up which would reduce audience capacity somewhat.

There is a permanent orchestra pit in front of the stage.

Access to the theater spaces is from an outside hallway, essentially Upstage Right...

The high school drama dept and others use the space without much variation to the curtains and lights above the stage.

Booth above at back of house.

The fly rail is SR.

Virgin Shrine in corner of parking lot of St Thomas Catholic Church.  This is a favorite view: the very active shrine, the view of vineyard across the road, the big sky, the oil derrick among the vines.  Very California Central Valley.

Field across highway from Catholic church. This is at the east end of town.  Vineyard is bordered by Highway 223, aka Bear Mountain Hwy.

City offices.

Arvin High School auditorium. The red part is the fly loft of the theater!

Arvin's moniker is "Garden In The Sun."