Growing up in Hanford, California in the 1950's

I was born in Hanford, California, a small town in the San Joaquin Valley on the 2nd day of August in 1952. I weighed 8 pounds 9 ounces. I was a healthy baby, but was born breach after a very difficult labor. My mother's name was Gloanna and my father's name was Marvin. She was 19 and he was but 17 when I was born. My mother named me Deborah Ann, and my name came from a movie star who was famous at the time, Deborah Kerr. The name Deborah means "bee" and the name Ann means "favored grace." I never really liked the name Deborah, but mom continues to call me that. Pa (Chap Cato) called me Debbie or Ann. Many friends call me Annie.

High school in the 60's was fun! We had mini skirts, bellbottoms and white lipstick, and we (literally) ironed our hair to straighten it. When I was in high school, all the girls were putting peroxide on their hair, then laying in the sun to give the hair highlights. I tried it and my hair turned bright orange. I was called "Rusty" for years and my ex-husband still calls me that. Then when I was living on a commune in the 90's, I was given another name. Having all these names can get confusing, and my gosh, my descendants will have a heck of a time tracing me!

Hanford was a wonderful place to grow up. Think Andy Griffith and "Mayberry" and that was Hanford in the 50's. Everybody knew everybody and nobody locked their doors. We went to church every Sunday morning and every Wednesday night and that Armona Methodist Church was the center of our community. It was filled with friends and relatives who had migrated from Missouri and Arkansas years earlier.

Hanford was created by the Southern Pacific Railroad and named for paymaster James Madison Hanford, an executive with the Southern Pacific Railroad. A small town, Hanford is located in the southern portion of the San Joaquin Valley near the San Joaquin and Kings Rivers. It's about 30 miles south of Fresno and 80 miles north of Bakersfield.

Hanford in 1877

Incorporated in 1891 and named the seat of Kings County two years later, this little town grew from a sleepy sheep camp to become a center for business and government while also maintaining its agricultural tradition in ranching, dairy farms, grapes, and cotton. My great grandfather JJ Carvalho first came from the Azore Islands to Hanford to work as a shepherd.

Hanford experienced a number of fires that devastated large areas. The need for fire protection was one of the reasons for incorporation in 1891. In that same year, an electrical generation plant opened bringing with it electric lights!

The Mussel Slough Tragedy


I remember passing a historical marker every Sunday on our way to church in Armona. Known locally as the Mussel Slough tragedy, an outbreak of gunfire in 1880, seven miles northwest of Hanford, California, brought to a head a long controversy between settlers on railroad lands and the Southern Pacific Company. In the end, seven men were killed.

In 1866, Congress voted to give the Southern Pacific Company a huge land grant in California to help subsidize a rail line. If the company met the terms and built the line, then it could sell the odd-numbered sections in the grant to cover costs. Southern Pacific encouraged settlement of the grant lands with promotional pamphlets that promised the land would eventually sell for $2.50 to $5.00 an acre, without additional charges for improvements. These prices were close enough to government rates to convince people to settle the arid Mussel Slough district beginning in the late 1860s. Within a few years the cooperative efforts of hundreds of families helped irrigate thousands of acres, and in 1880 the area boasted a population of four thousand people centered around the towns of Hanford, Grangeville, and Lemoore. By then, however, land ownership in the district was hotly contested.

In the mid-1870s, Southern Pacific stunned settlers by announcing that it would charge market value, $20 to $35 an acre, for homestead lands within the district. The prices were well above those stated in the pamphlets and above what the company charged in other areas. Hundreds of families who had already improved the land were told they could either pay the established prices or vacate. At first the settlers responded nonviolently by petitioning Congress to enact a law to force the railroads to sell the land at the government rate of $2.50 an acre. They also argued that the railroad should forfeit the land because it had violated its contract terms by not completing an agreed-upon rail line. When these efforts failed, six hundred Mussel Slough residents formed the Settlers' League on 12 April 1878. Although initially nonviolent, the league's approach shifted after Southern Pacific brought suit against settlers living on lands in odd-numbered sections. Beginning in November 1878, masked vigilantes rode through the district at night, intimidating residents who sided with the railroad.

Tensions peaked in spring 1880, when Southern Pacific brought suits of ejectment against twenty-three members of the Settlers' League. The league responded with heightened vigilance and posted warnings against the purchase of railroad lands. On 11 May 1880, Southern Pacific took advantage of the settlers' preoccupation with a league-sponsored picnic and sent the U.S. marshal Alonzo Poole, the land appraiser Walter Clark, and the residents Walter Crow and Mills Hartt to dispossess several settlers. The four met a group of league members in a wheat field near Hanford. Although the railroad men were heavily armed, they were severely outnumbered. Within minutes an argument erupted, followed by a sudden burst of gunfire. The source of the first shots was unclear, but in the end Hartt and five settlers were killed. Crow initially escaped but was caught and killed by an unknown gunman later in the day, thus bringing the death toll to seven. After the tragedy, tensions relaxed significantly. Some settlers purchased the lands they occupied, but many did not. In 1886 the Mussel Slough area was renamed Lucerne Valley. (From Dictionary of American History)

The Imperial Dynasty

The Imperial Dynasty family includes five generations of Chinese Americans. Front row from left: Sherrill Harris, Richard Wing (the restaurant's founder and an award-winning chef) and Arianne Wing. In back are Leilani Wing-Shimizu and Jennifer Wing. 

Photo from Tomas Ovalle/The Fresno Bee

Hanford is also known for "China Alley." I remember many dinners at the old China Cafe. We'd park in the alley and walk in, find a booth, and order some of the best Chinese food I've ever eaten!

And then, there was the more expensive and famous Imperial Dynasty Restaurant. This is a 100 year-old Chinatown which was preserved by Chef Wing's family. Many famous people, including US Presidents, Eisenhower and Truman, Mao Tse-Tung and Chiang Kai-shek have eaten here. Amtrak actually had a train that came in from both directions just so people could come to Hanford to dine! That restaurant made our tiny town of Hanford famous!

European monarchs dined there. Chinese leader Chiang Kai-shek once sent ambassadors to try the famous escargot. Ronald Reagan ate there when he was governor of California.

One family ran the Imperial Dynasty Restaurant for an amazing 123 years!
Wing's grandfather opened up shop in the tiny city of Hanford's Chinatown in 1883, selling bowls of steaming noodles for five cents. Wing began cooking when he was six — peeling onions, washing bean sprouts and shelling shrimp.

Wing left Hanford during World War II to join the Army. And in 1945 he caught the attention of Gen. George C. Marshall, who asked Wing to accompany him to China as his personal chef.

"It was like a fantastic dream for me," Wing says. "Imagine for a humble Chinese cook to be offered this wonderful privilege to be assigned to the great five-star general."

That assignment also included being a food taster for Marshall, who was allergic to shellfish and strawberries. Wing tasted food from kitchens in Europe and Asia, where he carefully watched chefs and compiled his own recipes. During this service to Marshall, Wing also cooked for Presidents Roosevelt, Truman and Eisenhower.

When he returned to Hanford in 1958, his mission was to bring fine dining to California's rural San Joaquin Valley. He transformed his grandfather's noodle house into a five-star restaurant, decorating it with intricate jade carvings, and tasseled Chinese lanterns.

Wing's menu boasted Cornish game hen and poached salmon, with egg fu yung as the only obvious Chinese dish. Soon, the Imperial Dynasty attracted diners from all over the world to the cow town. A group of wealthy New York businessmen used to fly in once a month just for the escargot — a garlicky recipe Wing took years to perfect.

After so many years, Wing decided he was tired, and the fourth generation of Wings did not want to take over the restaurant business. So the Imperial Dynasty closed its doors for the last time. (From an article by Sasha Khokha)

* * *

I lived in Hanford with my maternal grandparents, Chap and Inez (Hall) Cato.

We lived on Ivy Street in Hanford in three different houses. The first home I remember was on Ivy Street between Douty and Irwin Streets. It was on the north side of the street and had a big front porch with steps going down to the sidewalk. We lived there only a short time. This is the house we lived in when I was kidnapped! (another story for another day)

The home I remember the most vividly was at 212 West Ivy Street, and was the home I loved. It was a white wooden house with a front porch and grey steps. My grandmother decorated the porch walls with begonias and geraniums, and we had a porch swing where we'd sit and watch as the neighbors walked past in the afternoons. We had a nice grassy front yard to play in and two giant sycamore trees to shade us. Our back yard was fenced, and there was a dovecote built on to the unattached garage by the folks who sold my grandfather the house. The west fence was shared with my great-grandparents, Ada and Benjamin Hall, and there was always something going on between those two yards, whether it was gardening, a barbecue dinner, or a sleep-out under the beautiful starry skies of the Valley.

One of the joys of my childhood was going to Superior Dairy with Grandma Carvalho to get a strawberry milkshake.  My grandparents sold their milk to the dairy, and I remember a big truck coming to pick up the fresh milk from Grandma. It was transported in aluminum cans. I remember them being about 3 feet high. 

This is a toy, but looks just like the milk truck that came around.

 Superior Dairy opened in about 1929 and was run by the same family for years. They were known for their generous helpings of excellent quality ice cream, and for their good service. 

It looked just like this when I was a child -  I'm 63 now.

 There's a certain clean cold smell when you walk into a place like this. It smells of sugar, of cold freshness, of rest from the harsh summer heat. In my days, we could still go in barefoot, and the icy floor felt so good after walking on the soft melting tar roads. It was a real treat, and I looked forward to returning as an adult, maybe to relive those old memories. 

But there's a truth in the saying, 'You can't go back.'

Sadly, when I visited Superior Dairy a few years ago, the current generation was not keeping up to the standards of their grandparents and parents. The ice cream coolers were dirty, the floors and booths were filthy, the bathrooms were gross, and the servers were frankly, quite rude. A shame, but this wonderful place is headed for failure if someone doesn't pick up the ball. I'd be surprised if it's still open. If it is open, they need to get online and read their own reviews because word gets around...

We knew all our neighbors in those days. Donny Avila was one of my best friends and playmates. He lived across the street with his mother and father. 

Donny was Portuguese.  We had that in common. I was half-Portuguese and my father's family was a member of the same Hanford Azorian community. Donny was the youngest of a large family and was a late-in-life child. He was adored by his loving mother, Edna. I was jealous that his mother loved him so much, because my mother was absent.  I used to tell my grandmother he was spoiled. He was very entertaining and as all boys that age, could be annoying as hell! I didn't know anyone that could afford dance lessons back then, but Donnie did! To me, he seemed to love church and tap-dance more than anything in the world!

Donny and I would play together well for hours, hop scotch, jumprope, hide and seek, sculptor. Then one of us would get bossy and a fight would break out. We'd yell at each other and I'd tell him to go home!

Donny had a voice that could cut through stone, and he'd run and stand on the other side of the street, waggling his butt and screaming, "Ma! Pa! Sis-Boom-BAH!" He was making fun of the fact that I called my grandparents "Ma" and "Pa." Boy, that got my goat!

I'd get mad, run across the street, and chase him, and the fight would escalate, sometimes to blows. He'd run home crying, and I'd spit on the ground and swear never to speak to him again.

However, with no other children on our block, we soon made up and the cycle would begin again. Sometimes my grandpa would get so weary of hearing us fight, he would disallow me to play with Donny and oh, that would break my heart! No matter how angry I was at him, I didn't want to be told I couldn't play with him, because I secretly knew we'd make up like always.

Donny had a funny little saying that I remember clearly. His mother was Catholic, as most Portuguese immigrant families were in the 1950's and much of the Portuguese person's social life revolved around church. One thing that made me laugh was when I would drop food on the ground, and if I went to pick it up, Donny would stop me, warning, "Don't! The DEVIL kissed it!" His face would be so serious, that my hand would stop in mid-air as I contemplated which was worse, Hell or throwing away a good cookie?

Donny had recurring earaches, and his mother would cure them by lighting a cigarette, taking a long drag, and blowing the hot smoke into his ear. She swore by this treatment, and I thought it was the funniest thing! Edna Avila could also blow a perfect smoke ring, and she'd entertain us with one ring after another as she finished out the cigarette. Whether it was the smoke that cured Donny's earache or whether his mother's smoke-ring show simply distracted him, I have no idea. But whichever it was, it worked.

I still remember the sound of his cries and of the ambulance siren the day Donny's elderly father passed away. It was heartbreaking and one of the first times I really felt love and compassion for a friend.

Donny made me laugh, and he made me cuss, but he also made my heart happy and I cherished his friendship. I wish I could reconnect with him today and spend time remembering the golden hours of our childhood on Ivy Street. I hope he is well and happy. (PS: Since writing this, I've reconnected with Donny on Facebook! He has grown up into a very handsome man and is doing just fine!)

My aunts and uncles and cousins all lived nearby and I have lots of stories about them all. (Watch out cousins!) But those are for another day.

I guess that's enough of a walk down memory lane today.

I'll be visiting Hanford again in March.
My mother still lives there.
Not much has changed.
Sometimes it feels like you're living in a time warp.

I miss the parades, and the Saturday matinee at the Fox Theater. I miss the cow and fresh-mown hay smell that fills the air each morning, and the sound of the meadowlark in the fields. I miss floating down the river in an inner tube and swimming in the canals. I miss ice cold watermelon in the hot summers, picnics at Mooney's Grove, and cherry cokes at the Glider Inn. I miss swamp coolers and evenings on a blanket in the grass with a sweet tea in my hand. I miss the Portuguese festas and the smell of my grandmother's sweet bread baking. I miss that loud old horn that blew every day at noon for my entire childhood, and swimming at the Plunge. I miss the smell of the corner store and barefoot summers. I miss playing outdoors until dark; the freedom and the innocence of growing up in the 50's.

I don't miss the blare of train whistles waking me up in the wee hours of the morning. It's still so foggy in the winter than you have to drive with your head out the window to see the white lines of the road, and there's not a lot to do there but chew the fat with friends.

But it is and always will be "home."

Here are some fun photos of Old and New Hanford:

Civic Auditorium "Then"

Civic Auditorium "Now"

Carnegie Library "Then"

Carnegie Museum "Now"

Fox Theater "Then"

Fox Theater "Now"

Inside the Fox Theater. I spent many Saturday afternoons here!

Post Office Then

It's now a bank.

Railway Station "Then"

And Now

Old Postcard View of 7th Street

I used to love to go to the ice house with Pa to get ice for making homemade ice cream!