My Grandma's House

Me, Mom and Wendy 1998

My grandma’s house was torn down about 10 years ago. I remember when my Aunt Alice called and told me.  It was sad.  If you go to Google Earth, the house you see today is not the house that was originally there. The neighborhood has been re-developed. Part of her neighborhood had already been lost when the San Tomas Expressway cut through the area.   My Grandma from California was my mom’s mother. She was born with the name Ascension Quiroz. I know she had a few brothers because I found pictures form WWII with their names on them.  She took the name “Sally” as a girl. It was the white thing to do back then. Times were different then.  If you could pass for white, then you assumed a white name. I knew her as Sally.  She married my Grandpa, Jose Castillo, some time in 1950.  Every one called him Joe.  I don’t know the date they go married.  My mom never told me.  Sally worked at a tomato canning factory and had worked her way up to “head floor lady”.  It was a lead position with modest pay.  Her husband worked as a delivery driver. Together Sally and Jose Castillo brought a house in Campbell just outside of San Jose. The owner financed it and let them pay it over a 20 year mortgage. It was a small two bedroom with a good size back yard and a guest house. The house was built some time in the 1930’s.  My mom was born in 1951.  I have a picture of my mom and her two sisters taken in the yard of that house. My mom was eight years old in the photo.  It is hard to imagine your parents as children.  She was wearing a flowered dress with a lace collar.  My mom must have been a handful.  "She had a mind of her own and a mouth to go with it." At least that's what grandma said once.  My mom sad it was the only place she remembered living: that small house in Campbell, California.

I did not know my Grandma Sally very well, but I loved her.  We only went to visit her three time. And once she came to Texas on the bus to see us. That was about 1986.  I remember traveling to California. It seemed a million miles away.  Our first visit was in 1989. Then in 1992 we went again because my brother graduated from the Marines. We then traveled up to San Jose area to see my mom’s family, after spending a few days in San Diego with my brother. And the last time was in 1997 when my Grandma was sick. That trip was just me, Mom and my youngest sister Wendy. 

Our family went on vacation to California in the summer of 1989.  We drove there.  It was a big trip. I was about 13.  My youngest sister, Wendy, was two years old. She was so cute. She was so cute wearing pampers and constant bottle in her face.  I think she had the most fun because everyone wanted to spoil her.  It was one of the few times that I remember my dad ever being in a good mood for an entire trip.  After days of driving, we finally got there.  My Grandma house was small and plain, and had signs of wear and tear.  No one seemed to mind.  My mom was home.  My Mom and Dad slept on the couch and we kids slept on the floor.  Again, no one seemed to mind.  It was like indoor camping.   My aunts would wake us up with a home cooked breakfast.  We enjoyed the quality time spent with our relatives.  They treated us like we had known them our whole lives.  My mom had two sisters, Kathy and Alice.  They all shared the same fun and happy personality.  They were very much like my mom.  They called me “mijo”.  Mijo is a conjoined Spanish slang term of affection.  It means "my son." It can be said to any man or boy, usually by an older person. It can also mean "my dear" "sweetie" or "hun." My Aunts loved me, like my mom loved me. It made me feel special. 

My aunt, Alice, was married to my Uncle Manuel.  They had been high school sweet hearts.  They married young and were still together. They had two boys.  He was a mechanic who loved cars and anything sports. I liked learning about cars from him.  It seemed he could fix anything.  He also taught me how to box in the back yard.  He let me put on gloves and hit the bag.  I liked him.  He had a good heart.  My cousins and I were the same age, so coaching came natural to my uncle.  The interest he showed to me bothered my Dad, I think. I don’t think he appreciated another man teaching his son things.  I remember my dad scoffing when I showed him what I learned.  My Dad always focused on my older brother.  Teaching me seemed to be a waste of time. 

My uncle also drove us to Santa Cruz.  It was the first and only time I have seen the Pacific Ocean. It was beautiful. We don’t have oceans in North Texas. I will always remember it.  We left early and got there as the sun came up. We ate breakfast at a local diner.  We played the games on the boardwalk and took pictures on the pier.

During our time on California, we got to go visit my Grandma’s work. Grandma Sally was in her 60’s then. No longer could she work in factories.  She was a nanny for a prestigious Doctor who lived in Los Gatos.  The Doctor and his wife had two small girls and lived in a huge mansion. They were very friendly and kind people. They hosted a cook out for us all.  We made the mistake of calling it a "Bar-b-que".  That is a term used only in the Texas.  I guess out in California...they “grill”.  To them bar-b-que is a seasoning, not an event.  We swam in their pool and had a great afternoon.  They cared about my grandma.  She was an extended part of their family.  She worked for them for several years after that. The Doctor is the one who took care of her when she got sick in 1997.

We ended out visit in 1989 and returned to Texas. It was tough to see my Mom cry.  She was so torn about seeing her family in California again. This short visit was long over due for her.  It brought back all the memories of when she was 18 and left California to live in Texas with my dad.  It was not really talked about, but the week she had left for Texas in 1970, was when My Grandpa was killed in a crash.  My mom was devastated and always felt guilty for leaving her family.  We did however go to the cemetery and visit Grandpa Jose’s grave.  It was a place that my mom had never been either.  When Grandpa died tragically, she did not go the funeral. 

In fact my mom was worried again when an earth quake hit the Bay area in 1989. It was a major earthquake that struck the San Francisco Bay Area of California on October 17, 1989, at 5:04 p.m. local time. It was caused by a slip along the San Andreas Fault.  The quake lasted 10–15 seconds. It measured 6.9 magnitude on the Richter Scale. The quake killed 63 people throughout northern California, injured 3757 and left some 3,000-12,000 people homeless. Luckily, none of our family was affected.

Our last visit to California came in 1997.  My grandmother was sick.  So we went to see her. It would be the last time. Grandma Sally who had once been a beautiful woman was soon gone.  She was the only Grandparent I had ever met.  Grandpa Jose died in 1970, so I never knew him. I was not born until 1974.  And my dad’s parents were both past away some time before I was born too.  I will always remember the long trips to California and meeting an old lady who loved me, even though she didn’t know me.  My aunt tried to have the house put into her name before my Grandma died, but found out that the man who sold the house in the 50’s, never really owned it to begin with. The deed my Grandma had was not legit. The ownership reverted back to the real owner’s family.  They saw it as a gold mind. They did not seem to care about an old lady losing her home. All they saw was an opportunity to cash in on some forgotten property.  They could not legally fight it, because they had no money. My Aunts decided to keep it all hush-hush.  Grandma died never knowing that the deed she held was no good.  The house she had worked so many years for was not her’s. Her house was sold and my aunts moved away.  The old house was torn down and a developer built a new one. It only exists now in the few photos from our trip and the memories that roll around in my head.