"It [our family house] was a two story and it was green. It had a long porch in the front. It was screened. The bathroom was outside. At first it was an outhouse, then later my father made one on the second floor. It was outside but we could flush it.

I remember when I used to walk along side him [my father], how his pants would ssshsh, (laughs) the sound of his pants! I remember he was such a hard working man and very loving, especially to me, I was his only girl. (laughs) 'Cause my sister was born the day my father died. With the shock that my father died, my mother went into labor and she had Sara. I was his only girl. Ooh, he would buy me a lot of nice things (laughs), little furniture for my dolls and all that stuff. I think Sam looks a lot like him, my brother Sammy. I was fourteen when Sarah was born so there's a big difference between us.

There was four rooms up above [in our house] and four rooms down below. About six houses away from us [is where Grandma Pepa lived]. But we couldn't see her house [from ours] because it was kind of hilly. Morenci was a hilly place. My grandpa was blind, and I remember when he would get angry with my Grandma, we could hear him coming with his little cane. He would kick the ground! (laughs) We would [say], "Here comes Grandpa! He's angry with Grandma!" (laughs) He'd come to our house. I remember he used to recognize me because I was the only one with real long hair and he could just brush my hair like this and [say], "Es mi Pepita!" (It's my Pepita!) (laughs) Before he got blind, he used to have a lot of donkeys and he would bring a lot of wood, firewood. I think that was how he made his living.

[When my father was selling firewood] he had his own burros and he would make his own things for the burros, all that stuff to put on their backs. I remember we had a great big rock trinchera (wall) and it was way up high. He had a whole bunch of firewood stacked against that trinchera. I don't know [how much he sold it for]. Grandma used to sell her tortillas for a penny each. (laughs) But I don't remember about my dad. We would get the money and take it to Grandma. She would give [us money]. We would go to the movies on Sundays.

Of course we would go to Mass and to the Rosary. (laughs) We were very devout people, very Catholic devout people. Even my father, I remember, we would say the rosary before we went to bed, my brothers and myself. He [my father] had pictures of saints all around the bedroom on the wall.

We would have a nice dinner after the bautismos (baptisms) and the compadres (godparents) would come. There was a season that was a real dry season. They said that San Isidro was the saint to pray to. We would go in a procession with a picture of San Isidro in front. We would go up to the tanks. Along side that big round tank you see, there was a big cement, round cement. I guess there had been a tank there too. We would go up there and we would pray to San Isidro. Even the neighbors would join us too. We'd go up there for days and days to pray. One time we took a Victrola and we danced and sang. That's when it rained! (laughs) We had to run down; it was raining! (laughs) My mom and my dad were real devout. Since he was Isidro. He had a picture, like for Jim; he had a picture of Santiago, Saint James on his white horse. He had one for me; it was Saint Joseph. He was a very devout Catholic.

My mother always wore her scapular. She was a lay Carmelite. I remember my brother was from the, what do you call the Holy [something]. Oh, my goodness, I forgot the name of it, but he had a little thing too, that we went to communion once a month. I was from the Niño de Praga. I still have mine, with the Niño de Praga on it. It had a pink ribbon here and then the medalla (medallion). The Holy Name, [that was] the one my brother was in. We were supposed to go once a month in a group to communion. I don't remember [how I got into it].

I remember too in May, all the girls would go and offer flowers to the Virgin Mary. We would all go in our white dresses. They had a great big tina (bucket) full of flowers. All the neighbors, they'd bring flowers. We would go in [a] procession up to the Virgin Mary and offer flowers.

She [mother] would make us all go to school. Even my poor brother Neto. He was crippled and he had crutches and he hated going to school because you know how kids are. [They] would make fun of him. Oh, he would hate going to school, but my mother had to make him go. (laughs) He would go with his muletas (crutches). He would go making a lot of noise with those muletas. He was just starting to walk when he stepped on; I think it was a banana peel or a fig fruit peel, some kind of a peel. He slipped on it and his hip got out of joint. Since my father [didn't believe in them], we never went to doctors; all they'd do was massage. That hip never went into place and he had one leg longer than the other. He couldn't walk until my father died and then my mother decided to take him to the doctor and they had to operate, surgery after surgery, but he still was crippled.

I think he [my father] was a lot older when they got married. I think maybe ten years older. I thought my father was real old when he died and looking at the papers, he was only forty-five, but he looked old. I guess it was because of the hardships that he went through.

My Mamá was slender and she was a little tall. I remember she was nice and slender and had beautiful long black hair. She liked to go outside with an escobeta, not regular brushes like us. She had an escobeta and she would go outside and brush and brush her hair and it would shine so beautifully. I remember that about my mother. Of course my mother didn't have a chance for it to get gray either. She was thirty-five when she died. [She had] tuberculosis. Then there was no cure for it. All they did was make them bed rest. That's all they'd tell them, bed rest. She was only thirty-five years old and I was fourteen. No, no, no. I made a mistake there. I was ten years old when Sara was born [and when my father died]. I was fourteen when my mom died.

When she got sick, they took my brothers to another house and they just left me and my brother Jim with my mom. 'Cause, you know it was contagious and they didn't want the kids to get sick. [My brothers went to] a lady named María Romero. They went to stay with her, my brothers. Sara went with my Tía Teresa. She stayed there a while with my Tía Teresa. A lady would come to help us out. My mother died in 1935. No, let's see, 1936. My father died in 1932.

My grandmother already had her two grandkids, Lina and Lol. She already was taking care of two grandkids. Her [other] daughter died when she was twenty-one years old, Chaya. They were just tiny little babies so my Grandma took them over. She raised them from when they were tiny babies. She couldn't very well take six kids (laughs) besides her two. They put us with that María Romero when my Mamá died. Then it was too much for her so they put my sister and myself with her daughter, Avelina Mojarro.

It was the most miserable years in my life, all those like in the thirties. When we were just poor, I had my mom and my dad. It was great. We didn't care about being poor but after they went, it was real miserable. They [María and Avelina] would get paid through the government. After I graduated, I took over taking care of my brothers and my sister."