February 1942. Woodville, Calif. “FSA farm workers’ community. Agricultural worker and his family in their garden house.
February 1942. “Porterville, California. Vegetable stand in grocery store.
February 1942. “Tulare County, California. FSA farm workers’ camp. At the movies.
Comments on this entry are closed.
How come mom, dad and lil Jimmy are eating meatloaf, potatoes and carrots but Jr is eating cookies?
Bundles of green onions, 3 for a dime. Look how deeply the us gov’t has been stealing from us. I’m stepping out back and shooting the hell out of some gunz.
Note to self: Work harder at finding a single bottom plow for sale.
Notice the diversity. Back then, it was not our strength. Somehow, we did OK.
JWM
Diversity is not a strength. Diversity is a dilution of strength.
When the founding fathers put our national motto together, “E Pluribus Unum”, I’m pretty sure they never intended to imply, “Out of Many Colors, One”.
-of excellent quality, government fotos of government utopia. Notable here and in others on the topic, for rapid construction the plywood panels making the interior walls.
Watched a PBS “American Experience” IIRC promoting the egalitarian, racial and otherwise, paradise a WW2 west coast shipyard was due to planned housing and community to accommodate the influx of workers. Kaiser was in the shipyards so Kaiser did the construction etc and in turn became insurers- or somesuch.
From what reading I do it seems all frontiers are egalitarian …for a time.
My mother said the happiest times in her childhood during the 30’s were when they could stay at a work camp rather than camping. The work camps had running water and electricity. Meryle Hagard has a song lamenting ” tearing the work camps down.”
I visited, ate and socialized in the last logging camps in the Lower 48.
20 years ago, I worked with a guy who was born in a logging camp somewhere out of Clatskanie Oregon. He was, as he put it, semi-retired and just helping out at the rock pit I was working at. At 13 he was setting chokers and was a hook tender by 16. He went on to own a logging outfit of his own and did quite well during the golden days of logging, the 60’s and 70’s. A nicer man you would never meet and always willing to help out no matter the task. I am sure at the time he could still set chokers though maybe not as quickly as when he was a teenager. I never have seen a man before or since that could run a dozer like him, and I have been around some good operators.
I had my tonsils taken out at the infirmary of the Pondosa Mills logging camp in California, around 1952.
this piqued my interest. looks like there were seven Ponderosa camps in different states.
http://www.trainweb.org/mccloudrails/AlongTheLine/Pondosa.html
yours in there?
Tulare County double-bird kid seems dissatisfied with the movie.
+1
…damn, Sam. What an eye.
Humbled I am.
…there exists a third bird.
I’ll bet they were flippin’ off the bad guy in the film.
JWM
good call.
OTOH, maybe a kissy scene.
Remember my phone call from the G Man mid week last week? He black-balled me for having a Japanese rifle Curio & Relic without paperwork because: gun show purchase. He demanded, without raising his voice, the seizure of a contraband trigger I had recently purchased online, or else the jap rifle would be a problem. All of this involves my son (20 years old), who blabbed to a gunsmith about the arms he had and needed the smith’s services. The service he got was to be reported to John Law.
Today, we went back to the guhnsh-w in Idaho, found the old man seller who sold the Type-99 Curio & Relic (which was a miracle in itself), and asked him to sell it to us again for a dollar. He accpted the dollar from my son, immediately handed the dollar back to me, and Bob’s yer uncle, we walked a few yards over to the FFL table at the show and filled out the background check. Legal remedy. Every seller, and every official, had a different story to tell about the requirements of the law. Washington state legislature has built up a bulwark of gun laws so impenetrable that a team of lawyers are necessary to interpret them.
If John Law ever calls me again, I’ma say “what Japanese rifle?” “This legally purchased one?”
Me: morally sound. Government: a pit of vipers. The trigger I surrendered is not under any legal order to do so, but when the Alphabet, Tonnage and Fuckery bureau speak, it carries a storied color of authority that we all fear.
I hope by next week, I’ll be telling the tale of my fine new Springfield Ar.ms toy. I’ve been wanting one forever, and it has been a bear to afford and find. All of a sudden, it seems to be the rightest decision I’ve made in some time.
Imagine, if you will, a world where food factories have been secretly destroyed, gasoline has become Weimar Republic expensive and scarce, and you’ll need to eat venison and ride horses to survive. Also, halfway around the world, there is a factory surrounded by Ivans, wearing gas masks, and the factory is chock-full of angry Nazis. Don’t imagine it, just turn on the news.
Out here.
Today I bought my 2nd S&W M&P 12 22 in FDE with threaded barrel, brand new, never fired, from a friend. After running a mop through it I commenced to putting 6 12 rd mags through it to make sure it worked. It does. Very well.
The most important part of your commentary Casey was:
“All of this involves my son (20 years old), who blabbed…”
Hopefully that was a learning experience for you, and from you to him, a teaching experience.
Good luck with your new ride.
His other parent, whom I love and abide with, took him to the gunsmith while I was busy elsewhere. That never would’ve happened were I there. I told him this silver bullet his dad fired won’t be fired twice.
The opportunities for gun owners to become felons, overnight, are many. Lord help the next legislator I come face to face with. It won’t be pretty; he’ll get an earful.
I wish I already owned a 3D printer. And, some horses. Luckily, this county has horses to spare, and I can trade.
Glad for your new toy. Hellcat came into my life, although I still prefer the 6-shooters.
Our son has a 3d printer and his advice to me was don’t go cheap like he did, if you can call $700 cheap cause if I did I’d be disappointed like he is. Yes, I’d like to have at least 2 horses. 1 for riding, 1 for packing. If I was a modern day cowboy, my right scabbard would house the AR15 and the left scabbard would house the Rem 870 Marine Magnum. The Beretta 92FS would be on my right hip, the Ruger .357 on the left and the Beretta Bobcat on my left ankle, and a couple of Becker BK2’s on the back of my belt. The pack horse would hold everything for surviving and thriving indefinitely anywhere. The horses would alternate loads every other day. My 1st mutt would be driving point and my 2nd mutt would be pulling drag.
Can’t imagine an ankle rig being very comfortable in the stirrup; but that’s just me.
Talking about specific guns to anyone not family is a thing of the long ago…
Like any holster, ankle rigs take some getting used to.
When I talk about specific guns I’m mostly joking.
When I talk about guns in general I’m serious.
Or was it the other way around?
The boot gun is a good back-up, if small in punch. It doesn’t have to live there while riding. I am interested in the left-handed reverse draw holster (.22) and after I pay for the new long arm, will have a custom cowboy rig designed and built. I’m not trying to showboat – I have discovered the big leather belt and holster is much more comfortable than a Kydex belt paddle.
Nothing says hello like the Ruger GP 101 (in 6 inch/.357m).
I do love those old photos of New American Man. Say what you will about Government Cheese, they knew how to wield a Speed Graphic or whatever else passed for a poor man’s Linhof in those heroic days. There’s something about large format negatives when scanned and displayed on a good screen (as opposed to when printed by anyone not Ansel Adams’ darkroom guy)… Can’t get enough of them.
Casey,,,,What trigger would require forfeiture?.
Rare Breed FRT-15. I didn’t want it; stupid device.
Copy, is that one of those binary triggers?
When I was a chitlin starting around 4 to 13 ish, we would go to the Roseville Auction. Early every Sat. My Great Grandmothers Chevy station wagon, Baby Blue. Got my first ever Ticket in it at 12. Was delivering my Paper route papers, when the local popo, drove by.
We were right in front of my great-grandmother’s driveway, I quickly drove down the driveway, parking in the garage, great-grandma shut the garage door. I lived across the field, behind the garage, I ran home. My great went in and watched channel 3 news.
The cop showed up at my house, demanding to see my driver’s license. I’m 12. Turns out he raced to the next street and turned around. Was confused when we were gone. He didn’t know great grandma lived right there.
I admit to nothing. Ken demands to confront great-grandma. Are you sure? Yes. I rode with the nice policeman to my great grandma’s house. I drag the cop, “Ken Easter”, into my great grandma’s TV room. She looks at him and turns back to watch Lawerence Welk or the news.
Don’t say a word. The cop starts to chastise my great-grandmother and threatens to write her a ticket for allowing a minor to drive. My great grandmother laughs, says “Son you best get to writing then.”
While he’s writing both me and my great-grandma, she makes a phone call. My great-grandma says “Hey, they want to talk to you.” Who? Your boss. After we hear him say Yes sir, yes sir, yes sir. He hangs up. Says, “You’re lucky today, I’ll catch the two of you soon enough.” Like we’re Bonney and Clyde!
My great-grandma laughs, and says “Ok, I’ll just call the judge and let him explain it to you next time.” Ken Easter storms out. Great-grandma says “He’s gonna get you.”
At that same time, I was a very enterprising young man. I would buy 100 pieces of Bazooka Bubblegum for 1.00, a penny apiece. I’d them market at 2 cents a gum at school. My great-grandma was my silent partner.
We split the dollar I earned. I’d sell about five dollars a week’s worth.
Great-grandma and I upped the game. I was now selling firecrackers and M80s, a fireworks dealer!
One day within weeks of the big caper, ol’ Ken Easter spots me walking down the railroad tracks. I hear his car kick the four-barrel in, as he’s racing toward me.
I stashed all my contraband in the weeds and kept walking. Ol’ officer Easter locks up the brakes and jumps out of his car. He holds up firecrackers and m80s, saying “I got you, I got you, I seized this from kid across town who said you sold these to him.”
He then tells me to empty my pockets, which I do. I have maybe thirty pieces of Bazooka Bubblegum. He’s pissed. Lil Tommy told me you had pockets full of firecrackers. Well, I did two minutes back. They were about 100 yards behind me, in the tall weeds.
And my great-grandma comes driving up. Grandma wore a straw baseball cap back then. She has fire in her eyes. “Just what in the hell are you doing to my grandson?”
“He’s selling contraband fireworks.” Ooooo really. So you searched him, and what did you find? Officer Easter says “Nothing.”
Officer Easter gets in his Mopar, and goes away. My great grandmother tells me “He’s gonna get you. Go pick your things up, and walk home thru the fields. I’m going to Chuck’s house.” Chuck’s the chief.
Fast forward. It’s 1986, and I’ve just graduated from the Police academy. Ken Easter’s still active. I get hired by a small town “Wheatland California”. Literally a two-cop town. So I had my first badge.
I drove to Auburn Ca, to the Placer County Sheriffs’ office, I buzz the front desk with my badge, asking to speak with now Deputy Easter. Lo and behold, he’s in. Please come with me. I do. I can’t get the shit-eating grin off of my face.
We enter Deputy actually Sgt Easter’s officer, the desk gal said Officer WILLIAMS is here to see you. Ol Ken looked up, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. YOU’RE Officer WILLIAMS?
Yup.
He’s clearly pissed off, my hiring has tainted everything lawful!
You’re a criminal. You . . . you, you can’t possibly be a police officer.
Well SGT actually I am. The truth is, I’d come to make peace, but I could not shake my shit-eating grin.
Easter checks my badge, my ID, WHEATLAND PD, good God. This can’t be right.
Well, Ken, it is. I just stopped by to say hello and looks like we’re going to be working together.
Ken blows a cork!
I just want you to know if I discover a 12 yr old selling fireworks, I’m gonna get out and thank him. Ya see that 12 yr old could be selling weed or LSD, yet he’s selling fireworks. Yup, made 10 cents per sale of ten firecrackers, and twenty cents on five m80s. Flipping gum at one penny profit a sale. Quite the dealer!
We actually became friends, over the next few years. Ken was killed in a head-on while running Code 3, lights, and siren back in 1994. I attended his funeral. From time to time visited his gravesite.
Sgt Easter actually taught me much. You see once a young police officer recognizes what it is he doesn’t want to become, it makes it easier to focus on the good going on in the world.
Ken taught me that I didn’t want to be him, or ever police as he did.
Our kids are our future, they are our treasure. A phrase Teachers used was “ Teachable Moment”. That Teachable Moment was also used often in my early years. I used it daily for 27 years.
The ability to model, to teach our kids a better way, is a gift from god.
We should all use the phrase “Teachable Moment” daily in our lives. And look for them. They’re all around us.
Best Post of the Day award.
Thanks.
JWM
Yep!
What the heck? Nobody is wearing glasses. There’s one granny with coke-bottles, and one kid squinting, maybe two kids. Did they all just live with their near/far-sightedness, or did our forebears have better eyesight?
Just about everything back then was better. Anyone that says otherwise is lying and should be punched in the face.
no TV.
no $$ (?)
Rush used “teachable moment” constantly. Ditto on Best Post of the Day award.