The Riverbottom Years

8/8/2019 The Riverbottom Years

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THE RIVERBOTTOM YEARS

GROWING UP IN THE GREAT DEPRESSION

Stories of hardship and triumphas told by

JUDY LIVINGSTON SCOTT


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JUDY LIVINGSTON SCOTT, AGE 29

I SEE MYLIFE, AND ITS BEAUTIFUL!Judy L. Scott


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JUDYS STORIES OF EARLY CHILDHOOD

I. WILLIAMS, ARIZONA

LOSING MOTHER RUBY

GRAMS

DADS FAMILYBOYS WILL BE BOYS

DAD, KINDERGARTEN

MAKING DO

LEAVING GRAMS

II. JUDYS PERSONAL HISTORY

III. WICKENBURG, ARIZONARIVERBOTTOM KIDS

DIPTHERIA

POOR WHITE TRASH

LESSONS,

ARETTA,

WELFARE

IV. GLENDALE, ARIZONA

ICE CREAM

GOD

V. TEXAS

AUNT JULIAS

ON THE MOVE AGAIN

VI. JUDYS LAST WORDS

FAMILY GOODBYES

FAMILY INFORMATION

Pages compiled by Judys oldest daughter Sheri in 2010Cover by Dreamscape


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FOR MY DESCENDANTS, January 4, 1998

I am beginning this biography at the request of my daughter Sheri. It is f

the purpose of letting my descendants, three or four generations down the lin

know me and know who I was.

I am the last of my neo-natal family. My father died at the ripe old age of 9

Gene died of a genetic heart defect when in his late-forties. Roy died in 1995 of

heart attack after just turning 70. My sister Barbara died from the result

alcoholism at the age of 55. The four of us were followed by one half-brother an

five half-sisters, the youngest of which was only nine months older than my ow

first child. J.L.S.

Sheris Notes: Friday, March 27, 1998 Mom was diagnosed with a terminal illness a little over a year ago. She began

write her memoirs, but could barely manage to type out a page, only to have disappear into the computer somewhere, forcing her to start over again -- and again.

The day after I arrived for Spring Break, she asked me to help her with this firsection about her early childhood in the Great Depression in Arizona. It came as

complete surprise. As far as we children knew, shed always lived in California.Mom and I had just compiled the first section of the six around five PM. Mom la

on the living room couch reading it through, delighted with how much progress wemade. In only three days, wed managed to restore some of her lost material and begsome new stories.

Her breathing was labored, but she soldiered on, hoping that she would havenough time to finish all six sections of her memoirs.

Excited, but exhausted, she decided to take a nap.In our innocence, we couldn't wait to start up again the next day....

[daughter] S.J.P.S.


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RUBY ALICE PETERMAN LIVINGSTON, ARTHUR BENO LIVINGSTON

Ruby married Beno in 1923, and they had four children: Arthur (Gene), RoDorothy (Judy), and Barbara. They moved from Texas to California, and later Arizona, where Ruby died of pneumonia at age twenty-six.


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LOSING MOTHER RUBYI first met Death when I was three years old. Of course, I was so loosely forme

myself at the time that I had no comprehension of His form. He arrived one day in white truck with helpers who took my twenty-six year-old mother away. Grams wathere, and so was Gramps. What I remember most was the silence, broken occasionaby the helpers Death brought with Him. Grams stood in a corner of the living room, quitears running down her face and dropping onto her starched housedress. Gramps ha

his arm around her, helplessly patting her shoulder to comfort her. Only the soft sounof his callused fingers caressing her dress told me they were there.

I stood before my grandparents, imploring them for reassurance. My mothereyes had looked strange, half-closed and far away. Her lungs were filled with mucufrom pneumonia, and these were the days before penicillin.

She died at midnight that same night, February 14, 1931. My father had taken ufour children, (Gene, Roy, me, and 11 month-old Barbara) to a friend's house for thnight while Dad and his parents maintained vigil at the hospital. I can still feel thsodden emptiness of the gray morning light outlining the metal weathercock on ouneighbor's barn. It turned at every shift of the wind, and through the window, I could seswirls of white fog rising and falling. I sensed I was in a dark fairyland where evil witchecame to do their damnable deeds.

I couldn't sleep. I opened my eyes, and my father stood in the doorway like a dashadow. He hesitated before coming toward the double bed where the four of us sletangled together. His shoulders were slumped and his head bowed, and it seemed lika long time before he spoke.

When he finally did speak, it was softly and slowly as if his words were separafrom him, just words, without meaning: "I don't know how to say this except to saityour mother is dead."

Then, he picked me up and held me as if he'd never let me go, and I remembethinking, "Good! Now, maybe we'll get a stepmother wholl be good to me." (I don't knowhy I thought that, but I must have been in some kind of "trouble" before my mother gsick and they took her away.)

We children were not allowed to go to the funeral. Instead, we played hopscotcin Grams side yard. I remember it was a hot Arizona day, even though it was not ySpring, and I remember my "throw piece" was a beautiful nugget of broken dark bluglass that threw off suns rays like a diamond. I promised myself I would keep that stonforever as a "remembering" of the day of my mother's funeral.

I've often wondered what happened to that piece of blue glass.

Because we stayed home, I didn't get to meet my mother's people. They hacome from California, but left right after the burial. Mother's father said he had to gback to work. He owned a well drilling company and they were looking for a certain weto "blow" anytime. But, really, they blamed my father for my mother's death because hdidn't take her to the hospital soon enough. There was no communication between thtwo families for many years.

As the questions piled up in my mind, and the answers I got didnt make any sensto me, I stopped asking. What was the point? Theyd only lie to me again or make u


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something else that didnt make sense. It was obvious they werent going to tell me thtruth. Sometime later, I began to understand that they didnt know the answers, either.

Where's Mommy?In Heaven.Where is that?Way up in the sky.

Why can't I see it?It's too far away.When is she coming back?We don't know.Why didn't she take me with her?She couldn't.Why?She couldn't take care of you there.Then, why did she go?She didn't want to.If she didn't want to go and she couldn't take me with her, who made her go?God.Who's he?

A person that's stronger and more powerful than we are.Then he can't be very nice, disappearing my mother and makingeveryone scared and sad.You mustn't say things like that bout God! He's good and kind and forgiving.All the same, I don't like him and I'll never, ever forgive him.

It is impossible to convey my terror each night while gray dusk approached. Athe moon dropped lower in the sky, I knew that darkness would soon shroud thlandscape, just as I would be shrouded in my blanket.

I slept with the covers over my head, trying to hide from Death, hoping He wouldfind a victim that was easier to get to. I covered myself like this for even years later onsummer nights when the temperature was over a hundred degrees in Fresno.

I decided that when I grew up, I would become a doctor or a nurse. Doctors annurses didn't die that I knew of; therefore, I wouldn't have to die.


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JANUARY 10, 1998

I find it ironic that I am dying the same way my mother did. I am 70 years ol

and my lungs are losing their ability to function. I have to use auxiliary oxygen 2

hours a day, and each day that goes by, it gets harder to move around and

breathe. To move from the living room to the bedroom leaves me gasping for breat

for a good five minutes.

Mine is a progressive disease, and they tell me there is nothing to be donabout it. I'm still getting enough oxygen, if I keep my mask on and don't mov

around too much. But, there will come a time when the energy needed to produc

the oxygen level I need, will be greater than the energy I will get from i

Respiratory failure will then occur and there's nothing further to try.

J.L.S.

JANUARY 20, 1998

I haven't been able to write the past few days. Sometimes fatigue overtak

me and I can do naught but lie on the couch and read or watch TV. I'm having to g

those "big letter books from the library now. It isn't that I can't see the small

print, but the big print is easier on my eyes. J. L. S.


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CARRIE LIVINGSTON

Grams was born in Texas and married her husband there. They moved toWilliams, Arizona, where they established a farm and a successful business, andbecame prominent citizens of their community. They had six children. Arthur Beno wasthe second youngest.


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GRAMS HOUSEWe four children stayed at Grams place for several months after Mother died

This was Dads parents house in Williams, Arizona. There was lots of love in Gramhouse before Mother died. Gram was fun, and so was Dad. If we children were "goodwe were allowed to roll cigarettes in a red box made of metal with a rubber tonguinside. I'd pour tobacco into a deepened ridge at one end, then close the box and pullchromium handle up the side. When I opened the box again, there was a cigarett

ready for someone to smoke.Grams was young for her age and joined in with us for fun. In 1939, she eve

traveled with her daughters and sons-in-law all piled into a car, from Yuma, Arizona, tPhoenix, to see "Gone With the Wind." This was a rough trip through miles of empdesert, only to stand outside with hundreds of others for hours while the movie waprojected against a large building.

One of our favorite games was dress up. Half of the front porch had been glasenclosed, and an old highboy stood there full of long sophisticated gloves; beads every size, shape, and color; hats too good to throw away but out of style; gauzy, filmevening dresses and matching high heeled shoes; and even cigarette holders, somlonger than others, decorated with different kinds of jewels.

There even was a half bottle of "Evening in Paris" perfume in its deep, rich royblue bottle, and several half-used "Tangerine" lipsticks. How I wish we could buy thlipstick today! The color blended with your skin no matter what your skin tone wanever too dark and never too light. There was also a beautiful full-size mirror on a stanwith a gilded frame. It could be pushed up and back, depending on how tall you werso you could see yourself in all your finery.

People said I was pretty when I began to develop around 11. But, as a child, I wathe typical ugly duckling: painfully thin, with crooked teeth, and straight, stringy, du

brown, wispy hair.In contrast, my younger sister, Babs, was beautiful. She had short, thick, natura

curly shining brown hair, huge laughing dark eyes, a round, dimpled face, straight teetand an outgoing personality.

Because Babs was so cute, when she did anything naughty, everyone woulaugh, whereas I, the "serious one," would be given a "talking to." (It must also be notethat I was also not in the least bit cute.) People always said that even though I wasn'tgenius like my brother Gene, I was still "precocious." Grams told the story that whenwas still three years old, I came out of the bathroom one day and said, "Gram, I juwanna' know two things: what makes blood, and what makes that stuff when you go the bathroom?"

As most people did in the thirties, in the early evening, we sat on our front porcheor strolled the sidewalks, stopping occasionally to gossip alittle, laugh a little, or have cool drink. One night, Babs and I were on our evening stroll, (I was responsible for Babno matter what we did, including evening strolls.) A woman in a rocking chair said someone seated beside her, "Isn't she a darling? Such beautiful hair and, and look those dimples! She'll be a beauty when she grows up!"

I slowed down, waiting to hear something about me. When it came, it was painful


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The woman sighed and said, "And isn't it a shame about the other one? As a seriouchild, I understood what grownups meant, and I was wounded deeply. For years, made me ashamed of the way I looked.

Babs could say anything to anyone and get away with it. She also spokextremely well for "almost two." Grams house had a steamer trunk in the parlor, as dmost middle class homes of that era. Gramps used to punish Art and Roy by makin

them sit on the steamer trunk for "time out."One day, the boys were seated there, and Babs came in from outside. She looke

at the boys and said, "You boys get off that trunk."Gramps said, "Now, Barbara, you leave those boys alone. They're bein

punished."And Roy said, "We only have five minutes to go."Babs put her tiny hands on her tiny hips and glared up at Gramps. "They're m

boys, and I'll talk to them when I'm damn good and ready. Now, what was that you saiRoy?"

No one could keep a straight face.

We four children stayed at Grams for several months after Mother died. Dadyounger sister Audrey, the nurse, (we called her Trix), was home from school andguess she looked pretty good. At least, there were a lot of young men hanging arounOne of these was Sam, the postman in our small village. He delivered the mail fromthree-wheeled motorcycle with a wooden sidecar. Wanting to get in good with Trix, hcame by every morning, and I "helped" him deliver the mail.

I stood straight and dignified in the sidecar with the wind blowing in my hair. Sawould pull up and stop at the next house, give me the mail for those people, and I'd ru

up the sidewalk and hand the mail to the occupant. Then, I'd run back to the motorcycland Sam would lift me onto the sidecar and off we'd go again. Of course, we'd only garound one block, but I was exultant that I was grown-up enough to deliver mail. I waonly age four, after all.

Aunt Trixie flirted with Sam, scolding him, "You know what my brother Beno woudo to you if he knew his daughter was delivering mail foryou?" Sam was due for a disappointment, though. Trix ended up marrying an MD.


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GRAMS LIVINGSTON, VERA holding grandson GENE, ROMA JANE

JANUARY 30, 1998

I think Im feeling a little better than I did before. Its difficult to tell. Ill be

bed for two days, then up and feeling better for a day. There doesnt seem to be an

cause and effect attached. John is having to do almost everything now. We weplanning to take the summer and go RV-ing north where it would be cooler. I al

wanted to take some classes at a university if I could. But, it seems most of th

places we could afford to do have too high an altitude and I wouldnt be able

breathe there - even with oxygen. J.L.S.


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DADS FAMILYTrix owed a lot of her good fortune to Dad, and because of her, Dad only receive

a fourth grade education. There were six children in his family, three boys and thregirls, far apart in age. The oldest boys had married and divided up the old family farmNext in line, Aunt Vera, had married a restaurant owner and worked the restaurant withim. This left my father with one older and one younger sister. The older girl, Helehad graduated from high school but could not find work. In the days following the Ban

Panic of 1907, there weren't jobs for men, let alone women. Helen wanted to be teacher, and the family knew she could get a job right there at home if she had thnecessary education. (The family had a lot of "pull" in that town.)

A family meeting was called, and it was decided that Dad would quit school and gto work. He was only ten years old, but physically strong by this time. This monewould send Helen to college, then she would get a job and help Dad through school.

Only it didn't happen that way. The youngest sister, Trixie, graduated from higschool in a worsening depression, and no women could find work. Trixie wanted to benurse, so it was decided to postpone Dad's education -- again.

At school, Helen met her future husband, Pete Campbell, whose family ownesome department stores. After that, she got a teaching job and helped some wiTrixie's expenses at nursing school. And Dad still waited!

Dad was forced to take on any job he could find. He dug ditches, fixed carpicked potatoes, turnips, and sugar beets, performed maintenance around buildingworked as a general manager of a cotton gin, and eventually, managed hotels.

My father ended up with only the fourth grade education. Although I never heahim say anything about it, I can't help but wonder if this wasn't one of the bdisappointments of his life: one that made him bitter--angry.

He couldn't help but he angry about it. Everyone else in the family got the

educations and they were well off by the end of the thirties. He couldn't go back school then. By then, he had a family to support. Although they might have wanted repay Dad, none of his bothers or sisters actually offered to help him out. I never heahim say anything about it, but he never did get back to school, and somehow it waforgotten.

It was a bitter disappointment.


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DADAs I look back on it now, I must have been a handful for Grams, and Dad

indulgence didnt help. Once, we were going someplace, and Grams had put this hat ome. It was one of those close-fitting straw things they wore in the thirties. I didn't wato wear it. I lay on my back in the yard, kicked my feet and had a tantrum until Daddsaid I didn't have to wear the hat.

We went to Episcopal Church every Sunday. This took a lot of doing with fo

children for Grams to feed and dress by herself. Gramps was rarely there. He workein the oilfields someplace. And my father, a gifted mechanic, was out on the road, tryinto get any kind of work he could. By now, the Great Depression was in full swing, anpeople were standing in bread lines. Very little work was available. Even PhDs wedigging ditches. We were just lucky the older boys had the farms so they could help owith food if money was short.

No matter how poor we were, however, we always had a car of some kind: bashed-in Model-T, or a burnt out Morgan, or a roadster someone had left out in thrain, then hauled to the junkyard. That was where my father got his cars, at thjunkyard. He'd bargain for parts from other cars, work until he was ready to drop, anvoila! We had a car that not only looked half-way decent, but ran like a top. That woube after Dad got to the engine with his bailing wire. He kept a roll of bailing wire undthe front seat. Any problem on the road, and the bailing wire came out. Usually, withhalf an hour, we were back on the road again.

My Dad wouldn't talk about anything serious until after his first cup of coffee, hfive-mile walk, and at least a half hour of thinking in his rocking chair each day. Hwas vitally interested in world events. Every morning, rain or shine, the radio went oas loud as it would go, with the six-oclock news. It didn't count if we'd gone to sleep lathe night before, it was time to get up and find out what was going on in the world. An

he made certain we did know what went on in the world. Even now, if I miss the newsfeel like Ive lost a part of my day.

Some people considered Dad eccentric, but, despite only a fourth grade education, his handwriting and spelling were better than mine, and he spent a lot of timdisagreeing with politicians through the mail. They wrote him back and argued with himtoo. He had a letter from Lyndon Johnson talking about the time when they wetogether in elementary school.

Dads many "Letters to the Editor in various newspapers were almost alwaypublished. And, every time another letter to the Editor was published, my stomac

clenched. I knew I had to face the kids at school again. Their teasing was relentlesSometimes they'd taunt me and say my mother was dead. I'd kick and scream and ye"Don't say that! My mother is not dead. She's coming back. Take thatback--that she just gone away because I'd been bad. It was like trying to believe in Santa Claus. wanted to believe, but I knew it wasn't so.

If she were coming back, it would have to be on Valentine's Day because that wathe day she left. So, every Valentine's Day, I watched for her with baited breath unmidnight.

But of course, there was never a sign of her.


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KINDERGARTENOur kindergarten was a small school across the highway from a gas statio

When I was five, my father worked in that gas station, and I was so proud! Naturally, aus girls wanted to grow bigger and taller. I think the boys were afraid to admit they alswanted to grow. Well, we girls traipsed across the street every day at recess, and I wafirst. I'd put my head against my father's side and put my hand on top of my head to seif I'd grown any since the day before. Then each of my six friends got a turn.

Gravely, they'd step up and measure themselves against my father. I came onto his waist, but one of the girls came about an inch above and bragged about it unticaught her with rocks under her heels that lifted her about an inch.

My biggest disappointment in kindergarten was my inability to get books to reafrom the library. With the help of my older brothers, I had already taught myself to reaAnd, when we were in kindergarten, we could check out any book we wanted, but thehad to come back in the same condition they went out in. Otherwise, we would not bable to check out any more books until we were in first grade!

I remember going into the library that first day, and the musty, chemical smell the air. To me, it was ambrosia. That smell meant all the secrets of the world ifanwhen I could finish reading all of it! Then, I'd have the answers I was searching for terms of my mother!

I checked out a Little Black Sambo" book with a picture on the front of it of a tigerunning in circles and turning into butter. I could hardly wait to get home and stareading. I sat on the front porch and stroked the book and reminded myself I had to vecareful, or I wouldn't be able to get another book for a year. Slowly, I opened the covebut there was nothing there except some black printing saying when the book wapublished. I turned to the next page, forgetting to be careful.

I think I heard the tear before I saw it. It started at the center of the page anspread outward toward the edge. When I clumsily tried to smooth it down, it tore thother way, down toward the bottom of the book. My heart thumped hard, and I trembleall over. Then, tears clouded my eyes as I realized Id have to wait a whole year, lifetime, for another chance to use the library.

Perhaps this is one reason I have loved and prized books all my life.

Kindergarten was also a big disappointment for me in terms of learning to wrinumbers. I could read without strain, but numbers seemed to defeat me. We had contest one day, boys against girls. The first person in the two rows, a boy and a giwould run to the blackboard and put a "1" there. Then,the second two boys and girls would run up and put a "2" under the 1. I was numb5, and for the life of me, I couldn't remember how to draw a 5. I lost the whocompetition for my team. I was a failure, sick to my stomach and embarrassed andisgusted with myself.

And, my classmates were not nice about it either. Children can be very cruel. Buone thing was accomplished. I sweated over numbers until I had them down perfect! never wanted to have that same sick feeling of shame again.


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My transgression was soon forgotten, and I began to make friends at school. picked them because I fell in love with their names. I thought Elaine was the mobeautiful name in the world, and next was Janet, then Jocelyn. I hated my namDorothy. Ugh! So, I changed my name. Everybody loved Judy Garland, and I decidedwas Judy and wouldn't answer to anything else.

COUNTRY GAS STATION

FEBRUARY 22,1998

We actually went to dinner theater this week. The Players are part of the se

up here in Sun City. Really enjoyed it. Also, have tickets for April for dinne

theater. We'll be leaving for Mexico RV trip on the 30th of March. Sheri will b

coming for week on March 22. Then, Sandy wants to come in April. Chris wants

come for three months after that, but she has to sell her coffee cart and sublet he

apartment first. J. L. S.


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BOYS WILL BE BOYSWe lived in a tiny village of 1500 people where everybody knew everybody

business, and no one could get away with anything, so when Aunt Vera got a telephoneit was the talk of our town! Everyone wanted to see it and try it out. Soon, thexcitement died down, and since no one else in town had a private phone, Vera decideit wasn't worth it, and had the phone taken out. When the workmen came to take it outhey only took the black face-cover off it, and said they'd be back to get the rest--not t

touch it because it was "hot."Vera was going to a meeting that night, and I don't remember where her husban

was, but Dad was outside in the garage tinkering with one of his numerous projectThat was all we children needed. Gene went first. He touched where the mouthpiecwould have been, and brought his hand back sharply. He kind of grinned and sai"They must have turned if off. There's nothing there now."

Next it was Roy's turn, and he put his palm against the mouthpiece, held it thewith a grimace, then winked at Gene and said, You're right. They must have turnedoff. Go ahead, Judy. It won't hurt you."

You sure? I was a 'fraidy cat and my brothers were always pulling something ome.

Now, would I hurt my little sister? Besides, you'll always wonder if you don't tryout." Reluctantly, I put the tip of my first finger on the mouthpiece, and got a shock thran up my arm and into my chest.

I didn't seem to be able to move my finger away. The boys doubled ovelaughing. Daddy rushed in. He knocked my finger from the phone plate and picked mup to make certain I was all right.

He was furious! You could have killed her! he shouted. Not only that, you couhave killed yourselves! Up till that time, it was the closest I'd come to seeing the boy

get a spanking.Instead, Dad sent them to bed without supper.

FEBRUARY 14 1998

The Doctor is trying to get me off prednisone, and I am taking 15 mg. a daThis makes me very weak. I am in bed most of the time. John is still getting the R

ready, still hoping well be able to go someplace this summer. I am so lucky! He

so good to me. I don't know of anyone who would do as much for their sick wife. W

have borrowed a wheelchair from a charity place here. It helps a lot. At least I ca

go some places. I thought I would hate a wheel-chair, it would make me less of

person or something. But I'm getting used to it, and it's not so bad.

J.L.S.


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MAKING DO"While we were at Grams, we didnt lack for anything, because my fathers tw

older brothers managed the family farm, and there was plenty of food. There were nterrors to be afraid of, and we were secure. All the family members loved all thchildren, and we were given much attention.

My uncle Max came home from the fields one day and brought me a beautifchina doll that cost $8.00, in those days a phenomenal sum. (A loaf of bread cost fiv

cents.) Grams, who had taught us all about making do, had a fit. She said the chindoll would last maybe an hour, so she made him take it back and buy me a rag doll.

Of course, Grams was right, but l had a tantrum, anyway.

Grams had a talent for making do. Even when the cupboards were bare, Gramcould always find enough food to make a meal. She used to say to me, If you donhave it, you find another way to do it." It's true, we always found a way to make do anhave what we needed.

I tried to apply that kind reasoning one day. I went to the refrigerator and I couldnfind any milk. The milks all gone, I complained. Grams replied that Roy had drunk it.

Couldnt we get it back? I asked.How do you propose to do that? she said.Well, theres this ice pick here....

Grams got out of bed every morning at six oclock to make fresh yeast bread foher family. She also made cottage cheese on Saturday. At first, she bought the milbut later, she got her own cow, which she milked every day. Shed set a fully coverebowl out in the heat on Thursday. By Saturday, it would be what they called clabbersolid curd. Grams would pour off the leftover liquid whey, wrap the round bundle in

clean piece of linen; then, gathering the four corners, tie it to the branch of a tree. Shwould let it dry overnight. Afterwards, shed carefully unwrap the ball, stir until it wabroken into pieces, and add salt and cream. If you wanted your own seasoning, Gramwould put it in for you.

My fathers sister, Aunt Vera, whod married a restaurant owner, had two childreGene and Roma Jane. They lived in a house back-to-back with Grams in the middle the block. At the age of five, Roma Jane had a shining tussle of blonde Shirley Tempcurls, which were her mothers pride and joy, while my own hair was hopeless. It wacut in a sort of Dutch Boy, except for my bangs, which were always falling into meyes.

Once, Babs and Roma Jane and I were in Grams yard, setting up to play barberWe had found a tall empty barrel in Gramps garage where we placed a glass of water, comb and a pair of shears. We fixed a board on top for the customer to sit on, anbrought out a towel from the bathroom to put on the customers" shoulders. Roma Jangot to play barber first (she got to be everything first,) and we werent supposed actually cut hair we were supposed to pretend.


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BARBARA (BABS) LIVINGSTON andfirst HUSBAND RICHARD HINDMAN

My younger sister Barbara was married twice and had two beautiful daughtefrom her first marriage and a son from her second. Her first husband was in the Navand died after their divorce. She and her second husband Bill Peacock had aextremely difficult and traumatic marriage. Bill owned a dive in the then run-dowTenderloin District of San Francisco, and Babs was an occasional nightclub singer.


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Roma Jane took the shears and with one swoop, cut all the hair off one side of mhead. "What did you do? I yelled. You werent supposed to do that! We were playinpretend barber!

Oh, your hair is so ugly anyway, it wouldnt make any difference, she saidsnickering behind her palm. What are you going to do? Run and tattle-tale to GramsYou cant run to your mother, because you dont have one. Tears blinded me, andstarted to retort in kind, then clamped my teeth together. There was more than one wa

to play this game.I hung my head and dug a little hole in the dirt with my bare toe. Guess you

right. I said humbly. My hair isnt pretty like yours. I drew a deep breath and smileOK, it's my turn to be a barber and your turn to be the customer. Roma Jane, stgiggling, put the towel around her shoulders and sat in the barbers chair. Before shsuspected anything, I grabbed a handful of her beautiful curls by the by the top of hehead, and the sound of the shears as I whacked them off with one giant "shrrip" wamusic played in heaven.

Knowing I was going to get it," I ran, and ran, and ran, as far as I could. I hid fhours in a large, rusty metal drainpipe under the highway. It was just tall enough for mand it had a trickle of some old and very dirty water mixed with dried leaves and junk athe bottom. It smelled something like Grams outhouse, only worse.

I sat a little up one side on a curved edge, using my feet as a brace against thopposite side, and thought about the injustices aimed particularly at me--and I couldnfigure out why. Because I was ugly? Was that it? Babs and Roma Jane were beautifuand they were treated better.

Maybe, I was innately bad, and that was why my mother had abandoned me. couldnt be because I was dumb. My grades at school were okay. But, of course, nlike Genes. My brother Gene was a real genius and he was treated the best of a

Maybe, it was because I had a temper and did things like cutting Roma Janes curls ofBut, she had cut mine off first! Of course, since I didnt have any curls, my hair wasnpretty, and no one seemed to care.

Except, Dad. And, truth be told, Dad would probably laugh when he heard howgot even with Roma Jane. He'd even called her a spoiled brat before, not knowing thI was listening.

Eventually they found me. By this time it was dark, and the whole town was olooking for me. I could hear them calling to each other, their worried voices carryintheir concern, Any luck?" Any luck? and crying out to me again and again: JudyDorothy! Judy, its okay. Answer, please answer.

I came out of the drainpipe, and people started yelling and whooping and hollerinShes Ok! "We found her. Over here!

My punishment was mild compared to what Id expected: I was sent to the roothat I shared with Babs. I missed my dinner and had to remain there alone the whonext day.


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JUDY LIVINGSTON, circa 1958


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LEAVING GRAMSI became aware while we were still at Grams that Dad had begun dating. At th

time, my father was a very handsome man. He was about 5'11" with an athletic builHe had large, expressive brown eyes, a wide smile, and thick brown hair. When he golder, his hair turned white, but he still had a shock of hair when he died at 92. Dad wafamous for talking up the ladies and was teased about this by the family.

I didn't really understand what dating was all about except he'd occasionally brin

pretty young women home to dinner and then maybe they'd go out someplace. Thewas one in particular I liked. Her name was Lucille. She was very lovely, with darnaturally curly hair and friendly brown eyes, and she always wanted to include thchildren when she and Dad went someplace--to the movies, roller skating or ice skatinor picnicking and swimming. Grams liked her a lot also, because she was the daughtof one of Grams closest friends. I think my life would have been very different if Dahad married Lucille.

Dad was around thirty-two by now, and the family whispered that, of course, heremarry sometime. Someone would have to help raise the four children, and Gramwas getting too old. But, Dad didn't seem to be in any hurry, and said he was lonely othe road when looking for work. He wanted us children with him. He and Grams hadfew loud arguments on this subject, and before long, we were in an old sedan headinfor Wickenburg, Arizona, where Dad had heard there was work to be had.

Dad took us to live for a while with Mothers parents. Grama Peterman came froGerman parentage. To her, everything was either black or white. She did sprinhousecleaning every Saturday, rain or shine. Feather beds were turned, anciewooden floors were oiled, and even the doorknobs were polished. Grama had oncorner of the house devoted to quilting where the bees" would take place. Two lon

dowels, the length of a bed, were permanently set up. One side of the quilt was basteThen, an edge would be attached to a dowel, and the other edge to the opposite doweThe whole apparatus could be collapsed by rolling one dowel toward the other. In thway, when the women were not quilting, the table would fit into a corner of the livinroom. The entire trestle would not take up the space of a typical bed. Once a montthe women would rotate from house to house, drink their coffee, do their quilting, anshare their gossip.

Grama was as big a gossip as the rest in the small town, and one day when thlady next door called to her, she went to the fence where I heard, Did you knoabout...? Then, their voices lowered so I couldn't hear the rest.

All of a sudden, Babs started screaming--but, where?It was washday, and in the yard, Grama had three large galvanized tubs full o

boiling water standing over three fire-pits. Grama made her own soap, and a box of lyand other ingredients were set out along a bench next to the tubs. Babs kept pointing the can of lye and to her mouth, which was filled with vile-looking white stuff. Gramfinally got the idea. Babs had tried to eat a spoonful of lye, not knowing what it waGrama gave Babs a home remedy and washed out her mouth until the Doctor came.


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Babs was okay, but to the end of her life, her tongue had deep groves in it wherthe lye had burned through the flesh.

Grama never forgave herself for leaving the lye out like that. But, even her gudidn't hamper the gossip trail. The next morning, she was over by the fence and shand the neighbor were talking as fast as their lips could move as if nothing had evehappened.

NATIONAL ARCHIVES, families moving with all their possessionsMARCH 17, 1998

I have forced myself to working hours on this the last two days. I keep hittin

glitches. Today, I was ready to print out and both printers started printin

gobbledygook. So, I wont be able to get this out today. But, Im the kind of perso

that can only concentrate on one thing at a time, and Im really far behind in m

other work. I have to resolve this problem so I can move on.

J.L.S.


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A BRIEF HISTORY IN HER OWN WORDS March 17, 1998

I had always been a pretty healthy person except for large illnesses. I didn

get things like measles, mumps or chicken pox. I did get a cold every five to seve

years and when I did it was a doozy, with a loud raucous cough that went on and o

and on. I sometimes felt that my insides were coming up with the sputum.

In those days, people didnt go to the doctor with a cold. My father would ru

my chest with Vapo-Rub and put some under my nose to clear my breathing. Buthat was all anyone knew to do. These colds lasted into my 60s, about every seve

years, and when antibiotics didnt work, the doctors knew little more what to do.

just had to wait the colds out.

I had polio when I was 11, but luckily the disease centered in my upper bac

and the muscles between my shoulder blades are simply weak. [Her polio wa

discovered when neighbors rushed her to the doctor after a beating from her father thaleft her bleeding. He was punishing her for not working in the fields and taking care the babies after school.]

I gave birth to three girls, and had three miscarriages, the last a "mol

pregnancy where they were forced to take my uterus. I also had my appendix out an

a growth taken off an ovary. Then, they had to strip a vein from my right leg. A

this before I was thirty!

I didn't go back to school until I was 42. (I had only gone through the 9t

grade and was married at 16.) I earned my BA in 24 months, my MA in 11 month

and my Doctorate in three more years with a GPA of 3.92. I even took 28 semest

units between two schools one semester. Because one school wouldn't let me take tha

many units, I just went to another college, gave them a fake address and took my ha

units there. Didn't get caught either.

I was married to my first husband for only fifteen years, so I was divorced b

this time, and had no one else to fall back on. The children were grown and out

the house, and I did nothing but study and go to school. I only had so much mone

and if I was going to get the degrees I wanted, there was no other way. I did wor

part-time also, and borrowed money from the school that I paid back later.

ln my forties, I was in Hawaii, and they saw an irregularity in a lung. I wa

working on my Master's Degree at the time and had just gotten two classes to teach a

the local community college, along with a stipend from my Department. I wa

sailing! But, because there is so much tuberculosis in Hawaii, they couldn't take

chance, and I had to go the hospital for three months. Naturally, my opportunitiefor funding and teaching were lost.

I still have the irregularity on my lung and it hasn't changed a bit in the last 3

years, so I guess I didn't have tuberculosis, but I paid the price for it.

My new husband John and I moved back to California. I passed my Californ

State Licensing exam and then, after serving a three-year internship, established tw

different private counseling practices in the next 25 years. Both practices we

extremely successful. I still have former patients who call me and pay long distan


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rates plus my fees to be able to talk to me. They say they'd rather do that than have

different psychotherapist.

I was in good shape for several years until I woke up one morning in my 60

with a terrible pain in my right leg. They had to do a femoral bypass. My artery wa

clogged from my belly-button to my pelvis, and blood was not getting through to m

leg. It was a long time coming out of that one, but I forced myself through the pai

walking up and down hills daily until I was in good shape again. This was not s

easy, since I'd lost half of big toe from the blockage. Air wasn't what it should b

and l wasn't certain if my legs or my air would go first on a treadmill. I visited m

daughter Sandy in Denver, the mile-high city, and I couldn't breathe there. It wa

almost as bad there as I am now. But, as soon as I got home to Southern California

was fine again.

When I did go the doctor, he said I had asthma. I had no idea that asthma wa

deadly, so I shrugged my shoulders and thought there was nothing to be done. Bu

then it got as bad as in Denver. I went to a respiratory doctor, and in April 1996,

the age of 67, I was diagnosed with COPD. This is sort of a catch-all for emphysem

lung cancer, asthma, bronchitis, and fibrosis.At first, I was being treated for bronco-asthma. But, that changed later. Mo

of the problem was attributed to a condition called "pulmonary fibrosis" whic

hardens the lungs. It may have resulted from breathing in chemicals during th

years my family and I were migrant farm workers. [They gave her three to five yeamore, IF she stopped working and got away from the pollution in Los Angeles. But, shfelt a responsibility to her clients and was supporting the family after John's heart attack

I continued to work for another year or so, but after that, it became impossibl

I never knew what I'd feel like the next day or if I'd be capable of working. So, Joh

my husband of 27 years, and I moved to a retirement community in Sun CiArizona, where the air was cleaner.

That was in February, 1997. By April, I was diagnosed with breast cancer, an

they were going to do a radical mastectomy at Norris Cancer Hospital at USC i

California. However, after a week of consultations with doctors, they decided the

was nothing to be done but give me a pill, morning and night. I would only have

60 percent chance of surviving the surgery because of my lungs. The same was tru

for chemotherapy or any other standard practice. They sent me home and said

come back in three months. I did. The cancer had disappeared! Then they sent m

home and said to come back in six months, which will be on February 3.J.L.S.

(NO DATE)

I've just had a reprieve. I won't be going for testing until March 3. We'

changing hospitals. I'm just not strong enough for the long drive to Norri

California, and back. J.L.S


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(LATER, BUT NO DATE)

I finally couldn't wait any longer. I went to the hospital here and had th

mammogram done. The cancer is still in remission! There is no sign of it!

J.L.S.

JUDY at 16 with first husband MERLIN (PETE) PETERSEN, 1943

Judy left home at age 14 and moved to Long Beach, California, where she meMerlin Petersen, a Merchant Marine. When she was 15 and he was 20 years old, themarried. Later, they returned to the San Francisco bay area where Merlin had beeborn. Together, they built a very successful construction company, and raised thethree daughters.

Sherrill was born when Judy had just reached age 17. The family lived in the Ci

at that time. By the time the second daughter Sandra arrived four years later, they webusy building a home in Menlo Park, where they lived for two years. When daughtLinda arrived, they were in Belmont. A succession of homes and commercial buildingfollowed them south from San Carlos to the Flood Estate in Atherton, where they buthe home they lived in for seven years.

The combination of Merlins ingenuity and Judys business acumen came to aend in 1959 when the couple divorced. The three girls remained with Judy who raisethem as a single parent. A succession of relationships followed until, in her 40s, shmarried John Scott, and remained with him for the rest of her life.


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MARCH 25, 1998

It has been a rough two days. I had three "attacks" day before & yesterday.

was out shopping with John, calling my one patient, and went to Borders an

bought books. Sheri came in from Hawaii that night. Yesterday, I stayed in be

most of day, or on the couch. But we did go and buy scooter so I can get aroun

Also bought thing for car to put it on. $4700! It's killing me! Had tightness in che

last night and went to Maureen (doctor) this morning. Gave me nitro patches wear. Feel terrible today, but am hoping tomorrow will be better. John is outsid

building ramps for the scooter for in and out.

Got word today half-sister Carol, the youngest, has cancer of liver, stomac

and a few other things. Thank God my cancer is in remission! Went to Prescott

R.V for two nights to see how I could take the altitude. Same as Idaho. I don't kno

if I should chance it for the summer.

Is it that higher altitude that's caused me to feel so bad the last few days?

must adjust to the fact that I can't do the things I used to. I think now I shou

concentrate on learning to do as much for myself as I can.J.L.S.

E-MAIL: Friday, March 27, 1998Mom awoke from her nap tonight and said, John, I need to go to the hospital.

was shaken, because I knew she would never want to go unless she was desperatMom had an intense fear and hatred of hospitals. From the earliest time I ca

remember, she swore shed never go to a hospital again because ...thats where peopgo to die.

She was admitted close to midnight, and by the time we got to see her, she wacritical, and unconscious. They put her in the Cardiac ICU. I returned home, but PapJohn stayed at the hospital. They wouldn't let him in the room with her until visitinhours the next morning. He sat in the visiting room the entire night, waiting for someonto tell him if there was any news. They determined by her blood enzymes that she'd haa small heart attack the night before. We had literally come within minutes of losing heright then. S.J.P.S.


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ROY EARL LIVINGSTON

April 1925 May1995

Second-born Roy was married twice and had four children. He had a degree Electrical Engineering and worked or 25 years for Thomas Edison Utilities. Like Dad, hunusual viewpoints were published in dozens of Letters to the Editor. In his latyears, he compiled a detailed family history, including all the locations of our famihomes lived in after moving to the Central Valley of California overnight moves thwere prompted by a landlord or sheriff trying to collect unpaid rent. We all earnemoney as seasonal labor, but the rent was often not covered, and we moved every feweeks, dotting Fresno and Selma maps with our previous addresses.


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RIVERBOTTOM KIDSThe next move turned out to be a real adventure. There was no house to live i

Instead, we settled in a square brown tent on a wide river bottom, the HasseyampRiver, which ran alongside the town of Wickenburg. It was late summer ancommunities of tents were grouped together in circles. The river bottom was more less level and as wide as the length of a football field. There were sunken places whewater gathered and this was where the "riverbottom people grew the vegetables the

needed. There was no clean water to drink. You used what came out of the tap at thservice station.

The camps were set put up in groups with about ten tents to a group circlearound a long campfire, which was stoked at night. I wouldn't even try to guess homany camps there were, but at night the whole river bottom, as far as the eye could setwinkled like fairy lights. Everyone shared with everyone else. What little each of us habelonged to anyone who really needed it.

The men and boys went far and wide to scavenge for the fires; and the girls, wheold enough, would help to keep the campsites clean, bring water, pare vegetables, ando dishes.

Across each campfire was a pipe for hanging pots, and this was attached to othepipes pounded into the ground with the legs crossed like a sawhorse. This kept thcontraption steady. Coffee perked constantly, and each man took his turn at "watcover the span of a week. Dad also had his turn, always accompanied by his long riflwhich had been his ninth-year birthday present. Most of the men had guns, and whemeat was scarce, they'd form parties and go out and hunt for what might be availablmostly wild rabbit and quail.

A share-pot always hung from the trestle. Anyone hungry could take from

When a family had run out on money for food, they used the share-pot. When they webetter off, they put meat or what was needed back into the share-pot. Occasionally, thshare-pot went dry, and we went to bed hungry. Roy, being Roy, would always havsomething stashed someplace, something he could have eaten when he got it. Buhe'd saved it and shared a little bit with each of us. Roy had no conscience whencame to getting food. He would either steal money to buy food or the food itself. Hdidn't have a shred of guilt over it. Dad never questioned Roy very much about whehe got the food. I guess Dad chose to think it was God's will.

Once in a while, when the share-pot would be empty, and the men were unlucky ahunting, there was little choice. The children were sent out to beg from the townspeoplWe usually had a tin bucket or a metal pan of some kind. We'd knock on a door and asfor food.

Oh how I hated to beg! I think it would have even easier if they'd sent us out twos or threes rather than one at a time. Some people were very nice about it and gavus food, but some were not so nice. I remember one white-haired man, slightly bent the waist, opening his door, and seeing me standing there with my bucket, he yelled this wife, "It's one of those riverbottom people begging for food again. If they'd only geout and work, they wouldn't have to beg.


30/63


31/63

DIPHTHERIAAt night, we children were allowed to ramble from one tent city to another and pla

with children from these enclosures until we were tired and ready for rest. Then wecome back to our own "coven" where people sat around the campfire and talked. Atalk died down, one person would go into a tent and come out with a guitar and strum lightly. The person might even sing or hum some of the popular songs of the day, lik"Santa Lucia," "Old Folks at Home," "Home Sweet Home," or "Red River Valley." Pret

soon all of tent city was joining in. People would sing along in bass, tenor, soprano, analto. It didn't matter if one sang well. We were just a bunch of contented people singintogether before bedtime. Then, others would wander to their tents and bring out ainstrument: a sax, a trumpet, a violin, accordion or harmonica. One even had bagpipeand that player got a lot of teasing.

Then, everybody sitting on the ground around the fire would hold out their arms tus and we'd snuggle in, feeling safe, secure, and protected. The young men anwomen would sneak off in pairs away from the firelight, and we children would slowly faasleep, listening to the music, huddled in the arms of whoever held us that nighEventually, they'd put us to bed in our own tents where we'd wake the next day anwonder how we got there. So, all the children had many mothers and fathers, and wbecame accustomed to going to any one of them with our troubles. It was nice to blieve they'd always be there for us.

Most of the tents were rounded like Indian teepee pictures we see now. Our famlived in a square tent. One wall of our tent was set aside for kitchen and such. Baband I slept on a pallet by another wall, and Roy and Gene by yet another wall. Dad sleon a pallet in front of the door flap, his faithful gun alongside him.

One night a dreadful odor awoke me. It wasn't like anything I'd ever smellebefore. Then, there was a loud snarl. My heart raced. When Death came to take m

mother, was there a snarl? I couldn't remember. Terrified, I put the covers over mhead and thought maybe He'd finally found me!

I guess Dad knew what the noise meant. Without making a sound, he raisehimself, gun in hand, and slipped out through the flap, just as the creature let oanother growl. I couldn't wait. I shuffled as fast as I could to the flap and peeked ouThe creature looked like a big gray cat, and the skin of its face hung in rotted strips. Ithroat flesh dangled in ragged strings, oozing puss. It glared at my Dad from the othside of the stoked campfire. Tensing its front legs, it looked like it was ready to spring Dad.

Slowly, Dad raised his rifle, and I held my breath. He shot. The cat gave a lomoan, scratched its front paws in the dirt and slumped to the ground. Other peopstarted coming out of their tents, but Dad motioned them to stay back.

In case you don't know about or haven't seen diphtheria in its first stages, here is. We used to see this on the farms. It's extremely, con-tagious, so stay away as far ayou can.

Then, he got the mothers to take their children back to bed, and he picked certamen to help spreading coals over the whole campground while some older boys went


32/63

searching for more wood. I assume the cat was picked up in a shovel and put on thfire, but I was too sleepy to stay up and watch the proceedings.

LITTLE RED SCHOOLHOUSE WICKENBURG, ARIZONA

E-MAIL: Saturday, MARCH 28, 1998When I arrived at the hospital at 11:30 this morning, she was in restraint

Apparently, she had awakened that morning, and having no recollection of where shwas or how she got there, she flailed about, trying to remove her tubes and escape.

They sedated her every time she awoke (about every 5 to 10 minutes) and therwould be two things she'd ask me: one was a request for water. (She had a tube dowher throat, and in spite of the fluids through the IV, her mouth was dry.) I must havexplained to her thirty times that she could not have water or ice because it would ge

into her lungs, and they were trying to remove fluid from her longs, not add to it.Then, she'd ask me was why the tube was in her mouth. She did not recall at awhat happened the night we took her in, including being in distress at home earlier in thevening. All our communication was only by her scribbling (mostly unintelligibly) on note pad, or through her expressions, with the use of an alphabet chart, or mouthinwords. With a lot of guessing by me, she would "talk" a little.

Every time she dozed off and reawakened, we'd go through the same ritual. Sheask me for water, and I'd repeat about the water and the tale of how she ended up in thhospital. It was heartbreaking. S.J.P.S.


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POOR WHITE TRASHWe children ran free as wild animals up and down the riverbed, wherever ou

heart's desire took us. We had wonderful times in the summer. We climbed cotton treealong the riverbank; whittled figures with pieces cut from manzanita; gatherearrowheads; protected birds nests and watched birds being hatched; poured water othe riverbanks, and slid down the mud. Sometimes, we cooled our bare toes in thsquishy silt at the low points in the river, played Hide and Seek with children from othe

camps or played "Save the Flag" and "Cowboys and Indians."In those days, cigar boxes were highly prized. We decorated them to the best

our ability and took them with us wherever we went. We kept our personal treasureinside, like slingshots, frogs, and unspent bullets, pieces of colored thread, rubbebands, pencils and paper dolls.

We had few clothes, and no sheets or pillows or bedspreads, or extra shoesocks, underwear or any toys. But, neither did anyone else. The boys proudly makslingshots and built wagons out of "found" pieces. We played games, making up oown rules. We used the better part of worn clothes to "make do," fashioning dolls antheir clothes as well. We cut out paper dolls from old newspapers, and we bartered fthings we couldn't make.

And we explored, so we never felt deprived--we were too busy having fun to thinabout what we didn't have. One morning, Roy got me up early, hushing me so I wouldnwake Babs. Outside the tent, he whispered he wanted to show me something, but was a secret. We walked and walked along the riverbank. Then, we walked sommore. Finally, we came to an outcropping of granite colored rocks covered with brambbushes. Carefully, Roy pulled the bramble bushes away, and there, in a nest, was small bird with a wooden splint attached to its wing. Roy reached in his pocket and gavthe bird some worms he'd brought along. Then, he re-covered the rocks with th

brambles.I wasn't going to tell anyone, he said. But then I got to thinking if somethin

happened to me, no one would know the bird was here, and it would starve before it wawell enough to go out on its own. Now remember, it's a secret. And it was. Later onday, when we went to visit, the bird was gone and the splint miraculously lay in the neby itself.

We were out in the hot sun so much, our skin turned brown, and people oftemistook us for Mexican. (Our ethnic heritage was half-German, Scottish-English, andtiny bit of French.) Our only way of getting washed

was in the hollow patches of water on the river bottom, but we didn't take too mucadvantage of this opportunity. The other way to bathe was when parents got around hauling and heating water in galvanized tubs and the children who they could catch ga bath. This didn't happen often, either. Maybe, three or four times a year.

I don't remember how Babs and I met this girl our age who lived way down thriver bottom in a clean trailer. She wanted us to come home and see her dolls. Whewe got there, her mother took one look at us and asked if we'd like to take a bath.


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NATIONAL ARCHIVES PHOTO OF TENT CITY FAMILY

E-MAIL CONTINUED: Saturday, March 28, 1998Though I only spent three hours with Mom today, they were a grueling three hour

and I was exhausted. Either Papa John or I were at her side at all possible times. Fthe last two nights, I have slept on the couch in my clothes, just in case. I went to seMom about 10:00 this morning and stayed until 3:00, but it was a lot easier than ththree-hour vigil had been the day before because I had rested, and she was lucid at lasso we didn't have to go through the awful questions and answers of the day before.

S.J.P.S.


35/63

Sounded like a good idea to me. I hadn't had a bath since I left Gram's housBut, I was embarrassed and ashamed also. The woman washed our clothes and hunthem out in the hot, dry Arizona sun while we, (Babs, me, and the girl) played in the tubwith three different changes of water! We were fresh and clean when we left there. Fthe first time, I began to actually understand some of the differences between uriverbottom kids and the town kids.

We played with the girl's dolls until the late afternoon. When we put on fres

clothes and ran home, my sister and I were so excited, we laughed all the way. Buwhen we got near our tent, my brothers came out, their faces streaked with dirt answeat from their labors, and I saw what they looked like in their oversized clothes. Thewere shabby and dirty.

I burst into tears and ran sobbing into the darkness of our ridiculous tent. I thougof my proud father who had worked so hard all his life and never complained aboanything. He'd walked tall and stared any man square in the eye.

But in that terrible moment, I knew. We were not just poor anymore. When peoplooked us, all they saw was "poor white trash.

NATIONAL ARCHIVES PHOTO


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LESSONSI attended some of the first grade in Wickenburg, and the "Little Red Scho

house" is still there, refurbished and functioning today as a bank. The side door and thschool bells are still there. A plaque near the front bears this story:

Known as Garcia School built in 1905, it has been entered in the National Registry o

Historical Places by the US Department of Interior. Little remains of the old one-roo

schoolhouses built of logs, adobe, frame and brick that proliferated across Arizona in the la1800's. This fine brick example replaced the wooden school moved across town from the Vultu

Gold Mine in 1895 and placed on the land donated by Don Ignatius Garcia, a trustee of Scho

District 9 and a benefactor to the town. This building was restored in 1984 by the Communi

Bank.

I remember the rough wooden floors and a pot-bellied stove in the center of throom. Sometimes in the mornings chilling cold, we would group around the stove aclose as we dared. We also had to take naps. Each of us brought our own blanket, anwe were supposed to go to sleep, but, I don't think I ever went to sleep. I was toexcited. Right after naptime, I knew my Daddy would come to get me, and I would ridhome in the splendor of our current junkyard car.

One day, we met an older girl who owned a gray mule. She would lead the mualong with a thick, heavy rope and she'd let us kids ride him bareback. There was onone thing we had to look out for: never, ever get behind his back legs. He would kick.

This mule and I became great friends. I'd bring him something to eat and hug himand when he got my scent, he'd start to bray in welcome. I figured he might kick thother kids, but not me. I wanted to prove this, so, one day, when the girl was talking someone else, I slipped behind the mule and just stood there. I was about to call to th

girl and say, Look! He's not kicking me, when I found myself on the ground thresomersaults away and unable to breathe. He'd gotten me right in the solar plexus.

I was all right after a while, but I decided it might be well to listen when thpossibility of danger was pointed out to me.

I also decided never to trust a mule.


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ARETTAMy oldest brother Gene was our baby-sitter when Dad went to work. Poor Gen

was just turning eight. We were more than he could handle. We fought constantly, anit was worse when Dad worked nights. The people in our group would put us to bed, bwe'd wake up. It was scary without Dad there sleeping across the tent flap with htrusty gun. So, we'd soon be up, fighting and arguing. That is, until the night Roy threa butcher knife at me and caught me in the butt. The knife didn't go in deep, but it wa

enough to convince Dad to hire a sitter. He announced we'd just have to find anothway to cut down on expenses.

The babysitter's name was Arietta. But, Dad called her Aretta, so, we did, toShe was seventeen, with a great figure, freckles, and beautiful, long red hair. She wapretty except that she'd been raised in Colorado and her teeth were stained with something from the water there. She also spoke Spanish fluently. Her stepfather had beeMexican.

Aretta was an excellent cook, and like Grama, she could make a meal even whethe pantry seemed empty. We liked her. She was eminently patient and kind, and shdidn't change things much. Since I was the oldest girl, I still had to do the dishes, anRoy had to do the pots and pans. But, the only thing Aretta knew how to do was cooIf something dropped on the floor, it never occurred to her to pick it up. Soon, everythinwe touched was dirty, except for Dad's shaving pan, which he cleaned himself.

Aretta didn't teach us children how to clean, and we didn't know how to teacourselves. It was so discouraging anyway. We didn't have anything pretty to take caof. It must have been hardest on Dad. His mother's house had a spring-cleaning eveSaturday, and there were many pretty nick-knacks and dishes, linen and furniture anlovely clothes that Grama had made. Before long, Aretta started sleeping alongside Daat the door flap, and after a short time, a kind of secret buzz started around th

campground, which then became louder and louder. The secret was that Dad anAretta were going to get married! I didn't believe it. They had said nothing to us kidabout it, and Aretta wasn't wearing a ring. Besides, Dad was too old for her. She waseventeen, and he was thirty-two.

Later, I found out he'd lied to her and told her he was twenty-seven. One dathere was a lot of whispering around camp and people bustling to and fro. Aretta gdressed in a beautiful new royal-blue silk dress, donned a white hat with a vestockings, and white shoes, and gloves, while Dad put on his suit that he looked for woin. Then, they "stepped out" dressed to the nines.

Late that afternoon, they came back, and our whole camp drank champagne ancheered. There was music all around, dancing and singing, and congratulations. Thea special meal with just about anything you can think of: ham, roast beef, chicken, quarabbit, ten side dishes, (I counted them), fresh baked bread, BBQ corn and ribs, anseven different desserts.

Dad stood in front of all of us with his arm around Aretta's waist and announceher as his new wife and our new mother, and we were all to be good to her. He kisseher for a long time, and someone started to play Here Comes the Bride, on thaccordion while other musicians ran to get their instruments. We children stayed in a


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ARIETTA AND ARTHUR BENO LIVINGSTONAT THEIR 50TH WEDDING ANNIVERSARY, 1984

Beno and Aretta produced five daughters: Arzelia, Mary, Helen, Louise, an

Carol, and one son, Arthur Jr., and raised their grandson by Carol as their own sevenchild.

Aretta was very active in her church, becoming a minister. Most of their lives, thelived in the Central Valley of California. Many of their children and grandchildren went college and later entered the arts, education, medicine, and engineering.


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neighbor's tent that night and we didn't truly understand why. Dad had explained to uabout playing naughty, something about not letting a boy see me naked and vicversa, (but, when we were gown up it would be all right.) I wondered if that was threason we stayed at the neighbor's that night.

There was one single large wedding gift, so heavy it could hardly be held in onhand. The tent people had taken up a collection and bought the largest cast iron fryin

pan they could find, figuring it would hold enough for one meal for the six of us. Prior the marriage, Roy had used twigs to clean the old frying pan if it had been used. Thwas in the days before Brillo pads, or in any case, if they were invented, we didn't havany.

Aretta used the new frying pan almost every night for one-dish meals, and shcooked mostly Mexican food that we loved, but it stuck to the bottom of the pan and waalmost impossible to get off.

Oh, how Roy hated that pan! He began to hide it so it couldn't be used. At leatwo or three times a week, we children would be called in long before dinner and thsearch for the frying pan would go on.

Of course, Aretta would be crying. How could we hate her so much that we'd hidher favorite pan from her and she couldn't cook our favorite foods for us?

NATIONAL ARCHIVES PHOTO OF TENT CITY


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WELFAREDad stayed off Welfare as long as he could, and worked for the WPA when the

had work. When the work stopped, we had no choice. We'd go to a glass-fronted stothat had long been closed for business, and inside the grimy window, people gatherearound to get food from Welfare. One hundred pound sacks were laid out in rows on thfloor: pinto beans, rice, and flour, and so forth. On the opposite side of the store wethe "goodies" upon shelves: cold cereal, milk, cookies, cake and potato chips. M

parents would always go over to the goodies and use up half their allowance on thesnon-filling items.

All of us kids loved store-bought bread, but Aretta wouldn't buy it. She madbiscuits instead, and explained that they were cheaper than buying bread at the store(At school we could tell which kids were rich and which weren't by looking at thesandwiches. If the sandwiches were made with biscuits, they were poor like us.) I wajust a young girl, and I'd stand there shaking my head: no wonder we are out of foowhen they're buying cinnamon buns instead of bread! I knew that it was Aretta whloved potato chips, and that's where the snacks went.

In those days, flour came in bags with prints on the outside. When the flour wagone, you had material to make a dress or shirt from. Instead of finding just a regulsack of flour, you'd buy a sack that had a print you liked. That is also where we got odishtowels, pillowslips, and washcloths.

And of course, we also wore hand-me-downs. There's a picture of Gene in thsixth grade wearing Dad's pants rolled up about a foot, belted at the waist with the extrbelt tongue hanging down.

At Easter time, there would always be a package from Grams with a completoutfit for each of the four of us. Grams was a tailor, and people came from hundreds

miles around to have her make their suits. She made beautiful outfits for us. But, shhad no concept of what our life on the river bottom was like. I wonder what she wouhave thought of us running barefoot on the dry riverbed and wearing those beautifclothes fit for an Episcopalian Easter!

And, because Aretta did not know how to iron, once the dresses got dirty, themight get washed, but wrinkled was how we wore them after that.

Good thing Grams never saw us, she'd have died!

E-MAIL: Saturday, MARCH 28, 1998

This whole trip, I've either been at the house, the grocery store, or the hospitaYesterday, one of the first notes she scribbled out was Almost lost me, and nexSome vacation for you. Just like her to think of someone else when she's lying thefighting for her life! I can't wait to get home and distance myself from all this reality.

I'm glad I was here, though. Papa John probably could not have gotten her to thhospital in time by himself. Now that the adrenaline rush is over, I'm beginning to fethe full gamut of emotions. I 'm agitated, teary-eyed, sleepy, and shaking, all at thsame time. It's all crashing in on me. S.J.P.S.


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GLENDALE, ARIZONAIt was not long before work ran out in Wickenburg, so Dad went to the junkya

and found yet another car. This time, we headed for Glendale, Arizona, where Dad habeen hired as a manager of a cheap motel. His salary included little cash payment, bwe would have a nice two-bedroom apartment, a pump over the sink in the kitchen swe wouldn't have to haul water, and a real bathroom with a bathtub, toilet, anwashbasin. And, when we could afford it, hot water. Dad would drop a quarter into

slot in the water heater, light a match, and after a while, the water was warm and Dawould sparingly let each of us have some for a bath. Dad set up two double beds in onbedroom for us. The two boys slept in one bed and the two of us girls slept in the otheThe other room was for Dad and his new wife.

There were a lot of new "rules" when we got to Glendale. We were to call the newife "Mom." We could never mention our biological mother or her family, and we wenot allowed to ask questions about them. We were never, ever, under ancircumstances, to hurt our new moms feelings. This was only the beginning, and thnew rules were puzzling. How were we to know what would hurt Aretta's feelings? Wwould find out soon enough.

Dad had a thick leather belt about two inches wide with a three-inch brass buckleTo my memory, he'd never used it before for punishment. He'd simply start to unbuckit when the boys misbehaved, and the threat was enough. But now, he began to useon us. When he came home from work, "Mom" would total up our sins against her ancry.

At first, we fought back. Especially, Roy. When we got the belt across our babacks, Roy would yell at her, "What are you doing here? We were happy until yocame. You're not our mother! Why do you try to act like you are?" This only resulted Roy getting hit harder and longer while we stood by, helplessly, watching.

I, on the other hand, wouldn't cry. So, I'd get the worst of it when it came time fpunishment. The more I wouldn't cry, the angrier my father became, and the mowhacks I'd get from him.

Babs would start yelling and screaming before she ever got hit. Her punishmenwere always light. She asked me one time, "Why are you so stubborn? If you pretenyou're hurt, he'll stop."

"I'll never let anyone get the best of me by beating me," I said.Roy would hide Dad's belt while Dad was asleep, but Dad always found it. An

that would be another reason for a beating. Roy also continued to hide the frying paunder the beds, but it was too easy to find.

He tried the outhouse, but that hiding place was soon discovered also. Then onday, we couldn't find either the frying pan or the belt. Dad started after Roy with onhand holding his pants up, and Roy ran and ducked under his bed where Dad couldnget to him. Dad finally got hold of Roys ankles and dragged him out.

By that time, we were all laughing so hard, Dad started to laugh, too. It was thfirst time Id seen the old Dad since he got married. I'd wondered what had happeneto him. I'd really missed him, and it seemed like the distance between us becamgreater every day.


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A few days later, Roy showed us where he had hid the frying pan: it was undthe house, next to the foundation.

Soon enough, Aretta's stomach started to get bigger, and she was putting oweight. She also got very sick and had to throw up in the morning. We childrewondered, and since no one told us for sure, we decided were imagining things. But, aher stomach got bigger and bigger, we could no longer fool ourselves. I didn't have th

courage to ask Aretta, so I finally went to her friend, our next-door neighbor and askeher.

"You mean they haven't told you?" she laughed. "I'd think at your age you'd knoanyway. You can tell her I said so. If you don't want to, I'll tell her myself. The babydue in December, and we're hoping for Christmas Day or at least Christmas Eve."

I felt strange having to go to a neighbor to find out there would be an addition tthe family. But, that was the way it was. We children weren't told what was going obetween Dad and Aretta, like they were a separate family or something. I also resentethem for creating another mouth to feed. We didn't have enough food and money aswas. We didn't have things like Christmas presents or birthday presents, or parties, nnew clothes or any of the things other kids had--and I was beginning to notice thdifference.

They named the baby, a girl, after Mom's friend, Arzelia. But she was calle"Sister," in the early days, then later "Micki."

I was right about there being less for us older children. I guess I'm still bitter. Asoon as Micki arrived, our rations were cut back. We weren't allowed to have milk drink, (it had to be saved for the baby.) No more dry cereal, (couldn't afford it with thbaby.) No more warm baths, (needed the quarters for extras for the baby.)

We were not allowed to protest. It would hurt Aretta's feelings, and how could whurt someone who was so good to us, cooking and cleaning and taking care of us, akind and patient a person as ever lived?


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JUDYS HALF-SISTERS MARY AND MICKI (ARZELIA)

HALF-BROTHER ARTHUR, JR. (SONNY) LIVINGSTON


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ICE CREAMGrowing up poor during the Great Depression was rough, but it wasn't all ba

There were many things to learn and experience that wouldn't have been availabotherwise. I think it made us stronger, more responsible and more motivated to achievbecause if we wanted something, we had to earn the money to pay for it, (and thaincluded college.)

Our first help from the government, besides the WPA, came when someone g

sick. First, we would try home remedies, but if that didn't work, we went to Welfare. needed a tooth pulled, and they took care of that, but the tools they used were biggethan my mouth. They weren't made for little girls.

Soon, it was Genes turn. He got a sore throat that wouldn't go away. In thosdays, poor people didn't go to the doctor unless there was something seriously wronBut, it became obvious that Gene had to go. His throat was swollen, and he couldnswallow. Dad took him, and when Gene came home, all us children were amazed see they'd cut out the swollen parts, and now he could not only swallow, but he couhave all the ice cream he wanted!

Since the Doctor said it would be best to remove all the children's tonsils anadenoids so we wouldn't have to worry about them again, that was enough to convincRoy. He wanted his tonsils out too, (as long as he got the ice cream afterwards.)

Babs and I declined. Ice cream was enticing, but not thatenticing. Babs and I son our bed and watched Roy make marvelous faces of privilege while he let the iccream slide down his throat--and Babs couldn't stand it! She offered herself up for thsacrifice. Within a few days all the others were well, and I'd become an outsider as thetalked about "How It Was For Them."

Although I still didn't want to have my tonsils out, I did want to be part of the ingroup, so I finally gave in. Dad took me to the doctor's office. The room was painte

green with a long green table in the center and big bright lights shining down. It smellevery strong with something that seemed to pinch my nose.

Why hadn't I thought of it? Here's where Death would find me. And, I was the onthat made the decision to go where He could find me. Dad held me as I tried to gaway. All I ever wanted in the world was to make it to the door and get out of there. screamed and I cried and I fought until Dad finally let me go. I ran to the door, butcouldn't get it open. Then, I begged and pleaded, and Dad got on his knees in front me and held me to reassure me, but nothing diminished my terror. It was impossible tell Dad what I was really afraid of. He wouldn't or couldn't under stand at this late date

The doctor stood in the other side of the room, It's only prolonging her fear. Whnot get it over with? Dad agreed. They picked me up, and the

Doctor helped Dad hold me on the table while they dropped ether, I think, on somgauze above my mouth.

When I woke up in a little room off the big green room, my throat was sore, but nothat bad. Dad fussed over me all the way home and I got to choose my favorite iccream: rocky road. It was kind of fun being the last one. I got to gloat while the othkids had to sit and watch, and try to remember how their ice cream had tasted.


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JUDYS HALF-SISTERS LOUISE, HELEN, BABY CAROL

E-MAIL: Sunday, March 29,1998

Mom doesn't resemble herself. She's bloated, her teeth are gone, her eyes aglassy and pale, and her skin is bruised and blistered from the IVs. I want to go to thnurses and say to them all, "Do you have any idea how beautiful she was?" If I'd beewalking by her room and didn't know she was in there, I'd pass by, not even recognizinmy own mother! But Judy's in there yet, hidden away inside that grotesque body. Hspunk and intelligence still shine through. She's even funny. She told Papa John hshould go on their planned RV trip to Mexico on Monday, without her.

Remarkable, isn't it?What time is it anyway? I sure could use a hug. S.J.P.S.


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GODI think one of the saddest days of my life was when I found out my father was not

God--that he didn't know all things, see all things, hear all things, and control all thingIt was while we lived in the house where my Dad was a hotel manager. At this timcash was a scarcity. Aretta handled our money and was very protective of it.

When I came home from school one Friday, Aretta was next door, visiting with neighbor. There were back stairs that led into a fairly large kitchen. Her black chang

purse was lying on the kitchen table. Trembling, I opened the purse and there, amonthe other coins, was a quarter! I reached for it, then withdrew my hand. My famineeded that money for food. A quarter could buy five loaves of bread. But, I'd nevhad a quarter in my whole life and I was almost seven years old.

I took the quarter in my hand again. So shiny! I closed my hand on it, then putback, desperately wishing I'd hear Aretta coming up the back stairs so I wouldn't have make a decision. The quarter would go back to its place, and all would be well. BuAretta didn't come home, and somehow, the quarter ended up in my fist. I rushed to thbedroom shaking all over, and put the shiny thing in the toe of my shoe, dreaming of thgoodies, especially the candy, that I could buy with it.

Would she miss it? Of course, she would. A quarter was a lot of money! Mparents didn't drink alcohol or soda, they didn't smoke, they didn't go out except for aoccasional picnic at the park where the whole family was involved. They didn't even semovies. There wasn't enough money. So, there was no hope Aretta wouldn't miss thquarter. I decided to sleep on it and make a decision whether to put it back or not thnext day; that is, if I had a chance to put it back.

I had nightmares all night. My family was starving, and it was all because of mI'd stolen all their food and I had no way of getting more food, so they wouldn't starvBut, by morning, things seemed a little clearer, and I decided that one quarter wasn

going to make the difference between whether or not my family starved. I rationalizethat with all the housework I'd done over the years, besides being responsible for Baba quarter wasn't a very big paycheck.

It was Saturday, and there was a little independent grocery on the next corner. Asoon as my chores were done, I headed in that direction, wondering what I'd start witChocolate? Hardball candy? A sucker? A sucker would last a long time. Cheap, toNot like chocolate. But then, I also liked red licorice and butterscotch candies, and thewere so many beautiful ones I'd never tasted!

I spent a good half-hour looking around the store and finally settled on a suckerfor now. There was so much on display, and I couldn't make up my mind on the resMaybe, I should seep on it. I bent to take the quarter out of my shoe and pay for thsucker. There was no quarter in my shoe! Had I dreamed this while thing? No. Couldnhave. The quarter must have fallen out. The massage to me was loud and clear: wasn't supposed to take it and I wasn't supposed to spend it.

When I got home, the whole family was sitting in the kitchen and Aretta's changpurse was empty, its contents dumped on the center of the table. Dad motioned me tochair.


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JUDY LIVINGSTONS 7TH GRADE CLASSSHE IS AT RIGHT CENTER

(This is the earliest known photograph of her.)


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It seems, he said, that someone has stolen a quarter from your mother's pursI don't like the shotgun approach, where everyone gets blamed for what one person diSo, I'm going to try to use the honor approach. I want whoever did this to 'fess up antake his punishment. Then, I never want anything like this to happen in our househoagain. You know that stealing is a sin, but stealing the bread from the mouths of yofamily is, to me, a mortal sin.

Then, in turn, he asked each of us the same question: "Gene, did you take th

quarter?"Solemnly, Gene said, No.Then Roy. Roy, did you take that quarter?Solemnly, Roy said, No.Babs was next, and of course, her answer was, No.My head was whirling. Should I lie to my father? I'd never lied to him before. He

know if I lied. He always knew when I tried to lie. Should I tell him the truth? I decideto brazen it out. He might know I was lying, but he couldn't prove it. I shook my head answer to his question. "No," I said. He looked around the table, staring at each of uas if he could see through us and know what we were thinking. Then, he looked back Aretta. Are you certain you did the arithmetic right? Could you have lost the quarter gotten the wrong change?

Aretta caught her lower lip with her upper teeth and bit down. She had tears in heyes.

I guess anything is possible, she said. But it's never happened before.Dad patted her arm. And that's great, he replied. Shows what a good manag

you are, the fact that it's never happened before. Personally, I looked each of these kidsquare in the face and I believe they're all telling the truth. He put out his hands. Letall join hands now. And, Aretta, would you like to pray that the person who finds this lo

quarter will make better use of it than we could, because I believe that God meant it thappen this way.

I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Laugh, because I hadn't gottecaught, and there'd be no punishment. Cry, because I finally knew for sure that mfather was a mere mortal, just a man, suffering from all the weaknesses of any maHow sad it was to discover that he didn't know everything! And how sad that I could nolie to him and he'd believe me!

How could I forgive him for that?I felt guilty for fifty years. (I think my punishment was too harsh.) I guess that

why I've never been very good at stealing, or at lying either. My father was only a maand I had worshipped him like a God. Now, I had no God at all. I had no relationship the other God, the one the religions talked about. I wasn't sure I had forgiven that othGod for taking my mother away from me. What was I going to do now?

Who was I going to trust?


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JUDY AT AGE 14

Mom was afraid of death. More than that, she was terrified of death.On Tuesday, March 31, Papa John called for the third time and said Id need

be there on Wednesday to meet with the doctors about pulling the plug. Thehad tried to take her off the respirator, and she had gone into cardiac arre

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The Riverbottom Years

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