In the process of choosing what to write regarding that first summer in Richland, there is a blur of activity that goes through my mind. Heat comes to mind; as well as the big pool at the park, where I would eventually join the swimming team; also, getting up at 4am in order to go pick cherries with my foster brothers Mike and Pete. This last was another minor culture clash issue. Not because of the concept of work; The Good Lord knows we have all worked our tails off over the years, in many different capacities. Then, we had just come from an overprotective culture, where the “children” of the house did not work until he/she graduated from University, nor was the child (often in his/her teens) expected to work for a living (or for spending money, as it were).
When the school year was coming to an end, the talk around the house was about two things: the school dance and the kind of summer work that each able person would do. Able person was defined as anyone over 15. The first item had all my attention, but I truly did not understand the idea of the summer job and thought this was an optional road to follow, but not mandatory. Well, I was wrong! And Mr. C. was quick to point out that I was expected to join the summer labor force. I still did not understand, but followed the leader and went with Mike (he had the inside track, since he had been there the summer before) to put my name as a picker, since all the better jobs were already taken; Mike had talked to the farm owner the week before, and had secured the tractor driving duties… he knew that on any hot summer day in the Yakima Valley, driving a tractor is better than picking the trees.
When I titled this note “Summer Pickings” it was, among other things, in reference to the job we did have. Also to those things which come to mind and that were important. For example: getting my driver’s license. Did that too, and it was not easy. Took me three tries to get it right. That blessed VW Bus was not easy to manage until you got the hang of it. Another was joining the swimming team. Although it had been several years since I had swam in competition, I knew enough to understand that this was a matter of getting down and training every day. Form would follow daily training and speed would follow form. This had been my sport since I could remember and felt comfortable doing it, even though it did require a definite time commitment.
Once we had the hang of the part time job, it became a routine, and we did save some of our money. The family had a summer outing: for two weeks of the summer, the parents rented a cabin in Cannon Beach on the Oregon coast and took everyone in the family as the summer “get-away” vacation. I still remember cresting that old road just before hitting the shore; it would all be laid out way down there in front of you, and it was truly an awesome sight. The time spent there was more family time than anything else and I understand that today those children, now with their own children, still get out there sometime during the summer. I hope to “crash” one of those gatherings; there are so many stories and so many years to catch up on… I would probably assume that these children’s children may also continue the tradition started back in the late 1950’s.
What else is summer? Cook-outs… girlfriends (one in particular), dances; You who are reading this, remember the Saturday night HiSpot? How could you not? Then there were the night races… sometimes the guys who had the better cars would go out to a lonely road and race the quarter mile… Guy stuff, you know? A way to blow away the clutch or some other part of the car.
Rattlesnake hill… now there was a place not to have a picnic! It was much better to go to the A&W Root Beer shop and have a float along with fries… luckily, the diet routines had not hit yet. That was something the rich did (today, after seeing what the lean stuff costs, that concept hasn’t changed much!), we did the floats and the fries loaded with catsup, and enjoyed every last piece of the french fries. Public transportation was reduced to either your family’s car or your friend’s car. If these were not available, then you hoped that wherever you had to go, was close by. Especially when the thermometer hit 100+.
In reality and for the most part, these were much simpler times than what our children’s children go through today. If we wanted to get lost for a while, we did. No cell phones to locate us, no GPS (those would have destroyed the always handy “I got lost” routine) and no way to communicate until either you showed up ready to be called to account, or found a public phone to make a call. There was no way to call and remind us of whatever had been left undone. We would deal with that issue whenever we got around to getting back to the house.
-“There is a letter for you Raf”, said one of the boys, one summer afternoon. Getting mail at that time was an occasion, so this letter created some sort of expectation as to what news it brought. Honestly, I was a little surprised myself. It was not my sister’s handwriting and she was the only person with whom I was corresponding.
I went to my room and only then noticed the name on the return address: Rafael Alcazar. I knew I had not written to myself, and had never been to Puerto Rico. There was only one person from whom this letter could have come: my father. Only issue: I had never dealt with him before; last time I was aware of him had been sometime around my second birthday when he left, not to come back.
As it turned out, he had been aware of our coming to the states and was also aware as to our present location(s), since my sister had also received a letter from him.
It took me a while to answer this letter. It was an introductory contact from him, hoping to open the door to more communication and, eventually, it did. In the long run, my life changed in more than one way with the receipt of that letter and the opening of that door. My sister’s life also changed. More on this, perhaps, at a later time.
The most important short term issue that summer? We were going back to school as seniors now (WOW, we had made it!!). Also, I met the girl who would become my girlfriend for the rest of the time I was in Richland, and strengthened friendships and bonds with the other guys and girls from our Spanish group, as well as many American friends who still, today, come to mind when I think of Richland.
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