Talk #315

In the summer of 1960, Bobby and I were wandering about in Southern California, wondering where we could find a summer job to feed ourselves for the next few months. One day we read an ad in a Chinese newspaper looking for workers to pick pears in an orchard located in Courtland, CA.

Where the devil is Courtland , CA ? You may well ask. Dear Lighters, it was located in the Sacramento valley, south of the
city of Sacramento, west of the historic point called " Chinese
Camp". Courtland was a god-forsaken sleepy village where it was humid and hot in the summer, and cold in the winter.

To Bobby and I, this was a job opportunity. We took the Grey Hound up north, not knowing if we would get the job or what was waiting for us. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. 40 years ago, we were rather fearless.

Went up there, and were offered a job. Actually they needed workers and they took in everyone who showed up. About 20 to 30 guys signed up, most were students from HK or grad students from Taiwan. Mainland China was not allowed to send students in those days.

At the orchard camp, we were given a bed and washing facilities in an Army-like barrack. Our barrack had very thin, unpainted, wood-plank walls covered with old and discolored newspapers, dated back to WWII days. One could learn some history by reading the wallpaper, literally. The beds were old and squeaky. The living condition was just like a labor camp in movies, not too different from the camps in "Shanghai Noon", but without any gun-carrying patrols.

The foreman was a 30-something Chinese man, he was alright. There were a few "senior" Chinese workers, with very weathered and hardened physical features. I believed they were well into their 60s (not so senior to me now). They were alright. Our fellow student workers were friendly and a happy bunch. The owner was a rather well-fed Chinese man in his 40s, or so it seemed at the time. He was a sneaky son of a
bitch.

Everyday we got up by the sound of a bell or a horse shoe at 5:30 AM , got fed with a big Chinese DINNER for breakfast, cooked by the camp "chef "---not so bad, considering. Trucked to the pear field and started to pick pears at 7 AM sharp. A double-legged ladder made of wood, about 7 foot tall, was provided to each of us. A metal wire ring about 2 to 3 inches in diameter was also issued. The ring was for the pickers to measure the size of the pears. If the pears failed to pass the ring, they were big enough to be picked. We carried the ladder from one tree to another as the labor force worked from one side of the field to the other side. The picked pears were collected in a bucket, also carried by the worker. Filled buckets were emptied into a slowly moving truck.

The kids were having a ball the first few days. Everyone was learning how to pick the juicy pears, joking around and eating pears at the same time. The foreman, sort of, expected this. He made sure nothing got out of hand, but left us alone most of time. At noon, we were trucked back to camp and fed another big Chinese DINNER for lunch. At 1 PM at work again. Came back at 6 PM. At 7 PM another big Chinese DINNER for dinner. Most of us fell into a dreamless sleep no later than 9 PM, some earlier, some even during supper. 10 working hours a day. We were paid one ($1) dollar an hour. Each working day we made $10 plus room and board.

We did not know there was no day-off. You see, pears, time and tide wait for no men. If the pears became too ripe, they were no good to the wholesalers. Picking must go on. It was just a race between nature and and the pickers.

Everyday was a long day, everyday, no Saturdays no Sundays.

After the first few days, it became rather tough to get up in the
morning, the entire body was too sore to carry the increasingly heavy
wooden ladder and work 10 hours a day, even we were in our teens.

We soon learned from the "senior " pickers that one should work steadily, but slowly to conserve energy, just like a long distance runner maintaining a steady pace. About 7 to 10 days or so of working as a laborer, Bobby and I, sort of, got the hang of it and were surviving the labor camp reasonably well. We knew we would get out of there when all the pears were picked, unlike the slave laborers in " Shanghai Noon" with a "mountain of Gold" to mine. There was hope for us.

Bobby and I wore blue jeans, long-sleeved work shirt and a straw peasant hat. We never washed our work clothes. After a few days our jeans were starched with mud, dirt, mixed in with sweat and other debris that the pants became pretty stiff, and could almost stand up by themselves when taken off after work.

There was a small BW TV with poor reception, but we watched TV occasionally after dinner, munching water melons, cooled in a drinking well.

That was all the entertainment in camp, until one evening a truck driven by a Mexican pulled up. Out came a team of three female "entertainers".

.... to be continued.