The California Immigrant

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by Barbara Anne King


  Martin volunteered to cater most of the food and knew just how to stretch the rations to ensure enough to go around. The women, most of whom were excellent bakers, had signed up to make as many cookies, cakes, and pastries as their sugar rations would allow, which wasn’t nearly enough. Lena was especially distraught over the situation. She approached Martin with her concern. “We just have to get more sugar, that’s all. Whatever it takes.”

  Martin knew just what it would take. Sugar along with other rationed items was available on the black market. He often had to resort to that to fill his car with gas. While goods could be had through the black market, they didn’t come cheap. “How much sugar do you think you need?”

  “I’ll get back to you once I make a calculation.”

  “Then I’ll see what I can do.” He didn’t want to mention the black market to Lena and get her upset nor the price that would be charged for this sparse commodity.

  “Thank you, Martin. These boys deserve a wonderful Christmas party, maybe the last one some of them will ever have.”

  The day of the event finally arrived, and Janice Simpson was pleased her vision had been achieved. Sailors poured into the hall at their appointed time, smiles on their faces, ready to take part in the festivities. Clara had arranged for young women to be there so the men had the fairer sex to dance with or even just talk to. Girls had a way of transporting military men away from their concerns of war. Near the end of each segment of the party, Martin stood on the bandstand to lead a few carols, ending in a crowd favorite, “Silent Night.”

  That year Christmas Eve was on Friday, so Martin kept the restaurant open to serve people who had nowhere else to go or just wanted a good fish dinner cooked by an expert chef. However, he closed an hour earlier so he could get home and have the traditional dinner with his family. When he arrived, he could smell the bakalar en brodo simmering on the stove. Lena and Clara made the dinner, since he was not able to do so. Tonight as they took their seats around the table, Marty’s place was filled by a stranger, a sailor whom Tom Paul had befriended. “Everybody, I’d like to introduce you to George Markovich. He’s a Croatian, too, from San Pedro.” George had a Slav’s high cheekbones that set off his limpid blue eyes and gave his face an attractive look. He wore a crew cut that made his blond hair almost disappear it was so light in color.

  Martin knew there was a large Croatian community in San Pedro, many of them fishermen. “What does your family do?” he asked.

  “My father is a fisherman. He grew up on the Adriatic so when he arrived in this country, he found a job doing what he had skills for. He provides a good living for our family.”

  “San Pedro is not far from here. Why are you not with your own family tonight?”

  “We only have a few hours leave…not enough to get down to Southern California. This is a big state, you know.”

  “Well, I’m glad you are able to join us tonight. Lena is especially happy because she wanted to entertain a serviceman since Marty is away.”

  “Yes,” Lena said, “it is my hope that Marty is having a nice Christmas Eve dinner in Norfolk, Virginia with a kind, southern family.”

  “If so, I doubt he’ll be eating bakalar en brodo tonight.”

  “More likely shrimp and grits,” Martin said. “Southerners love their grits.”

  “Maybe we should be eating grits, too. Lord knows we’ll need grit to get through this war.”

  Chapter 53

  On January 11, FDR gave his State of the Union speech as a fireside chat from the Diplomatic Room in the White House. He had come down with the flu after attending conferences in Cairo and Tehran with Churchill, Stalin, and Chiang Kai-shek so opted not to go to Congress to deliver his message. Since it was a Tuesday, Martin closed the restaurant for dinner, knowing that most people, like himself, would be listening to the radio message. FDR talked about establishing a lasting peace, which the last war did not, and improving the standard of living for all Americans. But while FDR talked about peace, he also said there was still a long, tough road to go to Berlin and Tokyo, and he cautioned against complacency and overconfidence that the war was already won.

  A few days later when Frankie received a draft notice, Martin’s instincts told him the big push was coming. Now they were reaching up to twenty-nine-year-olds and all three of his sons would be in it.

  Frankie stopped in the restaurant between meal times to show his father the paperwork. It made him wonder how many older men were being drafted. It would certainly be telling if they were taking forty-five-year-olds, too, the upper age limit for conscription. “I was hoping they wouldn’t get you. You’re not made for war. But I knew things were heating up with FDR being carted off to Cairo and Tehran to have conferences with the other three of the Big Four. And then there was the State of the Union fireside chat when FDR tipped his hand a bit over the difficulties still ahead.” Or was he thinking of the upcoming election, trying to lay the groundwork for a fourth term. He was a known manipulator…a chess player. Well, Croatians, too, had learned chess from some of the best players on the planet. They can certainly read chess boards and know the moves coming up.

  “Just the same, I have to do my duty. But my concern now is about Ken’s strawberry farm.”

  “Do you have a plan in mind? After what FDR said in his Thanksgiving Day speech about food production in our country being the greatest ever, we need to keep up the good work to help the Allies.”

  “You know I made Hector foremen of the braceros. Ken had a foreman, too, but he’s gone off to war. The only person I have to turn to is you.”

  “Me? How would I be able to manage my businesses if I took over supervising the farm? Besides, I know nothing about strawberries.”

  “Do you have a better suggestion? Ken is depending on us so that he has a livelihood to come back to when and if the day ever comes that he’s released from the internment camp.”

  “Give me some time to think about it. By next week I should have figured something out.”

  Between meal hours, Martin met Frankie at Ken’s farm. Unfortunately, since it was winter there wasn’t much to see except barren fields. Nevertheless, they walked the fields by way of the irrigation ditches, and Frankie explained the operation while Martin tried his best to visualize it. “I’m not really a farmer, so I don’t think I will do much good. You’re going to have to ask your uncles if they know someone who could help out.”

  “Once Hector returns with the braceros everything will run smoothly. He knows what the strawberries need and how to direct the men.”

  “But what if Hector doesn’t return? You have to have a backup plan with someone here who can make sure the farm runs properly.”

  “Maybe I could get word to Hector that we need him sooner than usual. I think he has relatives who live in town.”

  The following week Frankie had to report to Camp Pendleton for training before reaching Hector. Now it was up to Martin to figure out a solution to the problem. Through the grapevine he located Hector’s relatives and asked them to get in touch with him. A week later, Hector appeared in the restaurant.

  “Good timing,” Martin said. “We’re about to serve lunch. Have a seat and I’ll send Chao over to take your order. The meal is on the house.”

  “Gracias. I am hungry and I have heard from Frankie that you are a great cook. So it will be both an honor and a pleasure to try one of your dishes.”

  “If you like seafood, then the risotto is the thing to get.”

  “That would suit me very well. Gracias.”

  From time to time, Martin looked up from his post in the kitchen to survey the restaurant. He thought Hector looked uncomfortable eating amongst the town’s people, most of whom were farmers who employed people like him. But the farmers didn’t even seem to notice Hector’s presence as they concentrated on their food and drink.

  Once the restaurant cleared out, Martin joined Hector at the table. “So, you probably know Frankie has been called up. No telling when he will
return. But the farm needs someone to manage it when the season arrives and Frankie told me you’re the man to do it.”

  “I have been making sure the men get the work done so I can continue to do that. But I am sure Frankie had other tasks that also need attention.”

  “I have talked to my brothers-in-law who are apple farmers, and they mentioned a few items such as ordering supplies, arranging for a crop duster, and so on. They gave me the name of a strawberry farmer to talk to about that, but I haven’t had a chance to do it yet. But would you be willing to take on some other jobs?”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as keeping track of supplies and equipment. That would take a load off.”

  “I might be. What is it worth to you?”

  “Of course, you will receive more pay. How much will depend on the tasks you take on and how well you do them.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I do good work. Now I’ve got to get going to catch my ride back. But I’ll try to return ahead of the rest of the braceros.” Martin wondered how he managed to get back and forth across the border so easily but asked no questions. He assumed the Mexicans had their ways as most people who live at their level of society do, remembering how people in his homeland skirted the rules to eke out a life. Martin extended his arm and they shook hands. On his way out the door, Hector turned toward Martin. “Your seafood risotto is the best.” Then he hustled away.

  Chapter 54

  That Sunday, Tom Paul showed up for dinner as he did most weeks. Even at his young age he realized time was short. After the family took their place at the table and said grace, especially for Marty and Frankie as well as all the other servicemen, he announced, “George left for the Pacific yesterday with a squadron.”

  Looks went around the table, not knowing how to read this bit of news. But Martin could see fear on everyone’s faces, especially Lena’s. “This must mean they have completed their training. The Pacific was always going to be their destination.” But even as he said those words to soothe worries, he knew better. All the signs were there and he knew exactly how to read them. FDR had started his fireside chat, talking about peace and future prosperity and ended it with those points as well. But buried in the middle was the bad news—perils ahead.

  Clara helped break the tension. “They are probably off to Hawaii for some R&R.”

  Lena forced a smile. “Wouldn’t that be nice. It almost makes you want to be a pilot.”

  All eyes turned to Tom Paul whose smug smile was a clue to the pride he felt in being a navy flyer. “They were all piloting Hellcats. That’s the plane that is designed to beat the Zero Jap’s fly. At altitudes it’s faster and a better climber. And what a diver it is. They say it even does better at carrier landings than the Corsair.”

  “Is that what you’re flying, too?” Lena asked timidly.

  “Yes. But you don’t have to worry. It’s safer because it has a protective windshield and armor around the gas tank. I’ve heard it can even make it back to base after taking a few hits.” Lena gave a visible shiver that caught everyone’s attention. But she said no more.

  “You know I still cannot believe we are talking about flying machines, airplanes, that are capable of such astounding feats. When I came to this country, cars were just coming into being, although a German named Benz built the first one in 1885. Then in 1903, we heard about the Wright brothers test flight that lasted a few seconds. No one could have anticipated then what airplanes would become. But we caught a glimpse of the possibilities when Charles Lindberg made his transatlantic flight in 1927. He received a hero’s welcome when he landed in Paris and was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. And now, as unbelievable as it might seem, my son is not only flying one of these incredible machines but is training to do battle in it.”

  “I certainly hope to see action. And as long as I’m in the pilot’s seat of a Hellcat, I will have nothing to fear. It’s the Japs who should be shaking in their boots.”

  A few weeks later, Martin and Lena gathered at the Watsonville Naval Airship Station to see Tom Paul and his squadron off. It was a clear day in February with scant traces of clouds in the sky, a good day for flying. When Lena spotted Tom Paul, she started screaming his name. He turned and caught sight of his mother whom he had not expected to come to see him off. The last time he had been with her, she had given him such an emotional farewell that he thought that would be the last time he’d set eyes on her until he returned from war.

  But there she was, standing next to his father, screaming and waving her arms. Tom Paul went toward the crowd standing behind the guard rope to give his mother once last kiss. He was wearing a flight suit and cap with aviator goggles resting on the top of his head. “Take care of yourself,” Lena said as she hugged him, “and come back to me. You’re still my baby.” They kissed each other on both cheeks then Tom Paul shook his father’s hand and left to rejoin his squadron, but not before flashing a smile, displaying his dimples.

  They stood and watched as a dozen Hellcats took off over the Pacific where one day soon they would do battle with the enemy. From what Martin had learned, they would be based in Honolulu, just as Clara had predicted. Finally, when all twelve aircraft had departed and they could no longer see any sign of them, Martin took Lena by the hand and led her away.

  “Now all three of our boys are in the war. It will only be by sheer luck if they all make it home.”

  Martin did not answer, although he had been thinking the same thing. Best not to add to her anxiety.

  When they got home, Lena checked the mailbox and found a letter from Frankie. As soon as she got into the kitchen, she tore the envelope open, anxious for any word from her son. But all Frankie said was that he finished his training and was heading to the east coast to deploy from there. She collapsed into a chair, not knowing what to make of the news. One son heading west, another heading east—it was all too much for one day. She wondered about Marty and whether he was still based in Norfolk. It had been a while since she had heard from him, so things could have changed. Martin appeared while she was still lost in her thoughts so she showed him the letter. Lena tried to interpret his body language as he read it but couldn’t. He had kept a good poker face. “Well,” she said when he had finished, “what do you make of it?”

  Martin sat down in the chair next to her and took her hand in his. “Lena, you have to understand we are at war. The president even said there are perils ahead. It appears our sons are heading right for them. Everything points to major battles in the coming months in both the Pacific and Atlantic. Prayers are needed more than ever.”

  A couple of weeks later, they finally heard from Marty. The key line in his letter was that the Nevada was no longer on convoy duty. “What does it mean, Martin?”

  “It means that resources are being marshaled.”

  “Is that all our sons are…resources? FDR promised not to send our sons into any foreign wars. He said they were training to keep war away from our shores, to protect our country. And we believed him. I don’t think I can ever trust him again.”

  “Lena, listen to me. The world has changed since he made those promises. Not even he, the president of this great nation, could foresee the threat the Axis powers would pose to our freedom. We have to trust that he will do what is best for us and the world.”

  “All I care about is our sons.”

  “But what kind of lives would they have if evil overtakes the world? We left our homeland because of the oppression. If these powers win, their lives would be a living hell.”

  Chapter 55

  In early April, Hector returned, stopping by the restaurant to let Martin know. Martin was relieved to see him since he had to question how dependable migrant workers were—especially those south of the border. But Hector had now proven himself responsible. “We should go over to the farm office and start making plans for the season and check on the growth the plants have on them,” said Martin.

  “I will see you at the farm. I want
to look around so we can make the most of our meeting.” Then he turned around and walked out. Martin thought he seemed rather abrupt but was glad he was getting down to business. He certainly hoped Hector would pull through because, if he didn’t, there would be more on his shoulders.

  At the break between meal hours, Martin headed for the strawberry farm. When he arrived, he spotted Hector in the field inspecting the plants. After the fog had lifted, the gentle sunshine warmed the day in the mild way strawberries like before disappearing into a chilly night that helped the fruit thrive. The soil was moist but not wet, so Martin walked through the irrigation rows to where Hector was standing. “What do you think about the crop this year?”

  “I haven’t been here this early in the season before so it is difficult to compare strawberry to strawberry. But back in Mexico where I live, I have observed many strawberry fields at this stage. I think this looks pretty good…normal.”

  “By May, most of the field workers should be here. Until then, do you think you need a couple of hands to help you?”

  “Probably so. But let’s go into the office and talk. I started a list of things we need to do. Since you want me to take over inventory and equipment, I’ve already done an inspection.”

 

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