Jennie Cauzza, center, takes one last buggy ride.
A
gentle breeze rustled the leaves on century-old eucalyptus trees. The chirping
of birds provided background music as three pioneer westside farming families
gathered recently in a courtyard at Tracy Ranch for a leisurely lunch and
belated celebration of Jennie Cauzza's 95th birthday.
The
Tracys and the Selvidges are the prominent names in the Buttonwillow Land and
Cattle Co. They were joined by the Cauzzas, who have farmed thousands of acres
in and around Buttonwillow for decades.
But
it wasn't crops and water that held their attention on this warm spring day. It
was the reminiscing of a spunky, funny and sometimes seriously reflective woman
who has experienced a lifetime of triumphs and hardships growing up and raising
a family in Buttonwillow.
As
Jennie spun tales and answered questions, there were no side conversations; no
impatient squirming in seats. And when she was finished and ready to call it a
day, Jennie looked into the faces of her audience and observed with a
matter-of-fact laugh, "It was a hard struggle, but I am still here to talk
about it."
Her
"struggle" began on April 17, 1915, when she was born in a
Buttonwillow farm house to Salvadore and Maria Fanucchi. They were among the
many Italian immigrant families that settled in the "swamp" -- the
end of the Kern River, where water flooded into the fields. Years later, the
fields were drained to reveal fertile farmland.
There
was nothing fancy about growing up for Jennie and her brother, Gino. Food was
scarce. Work was hard. And if you needed to go someplace, you either walked or
rode in the family's horse-drawn wagon.
While
most people might want to forget early-day hardships, Jennie told her family
that she wanted to take just one more ride around Buttonwillow in a horse-drawn
wagon. John Tracy, whose ranch is scattered with antique farm equipment,
including horse carts, was happy to oblige Jennie in honor of her 95th
birthday.
"She
is probably the oldest person still living in Buttonwillow who was born here,
grew up here and has lived here all her life," said Tracy. So anxious was
he to hear Jennie's recollections, he arranged a party and set up a video
camera to record her words. Jennie still lives independently in her
Buttonwillow home.
The
party began at a farm house on Tracy Avenue with Jennie, five of her great-
grandchildren, John Tracy and me climbing into an open carriage pulled by a
team of mules.
A
wide smile spread across Jennie's face as we bounced along farm roads for about
three miles until we reached our destination on Wildwood Road.
As
we passed orchards and fields of crops, Jennie reminisced. When she was a young
girl, a trip east to the big city of Bakersfield -- no more than a 30-minute
drive today -- could take a couple of days by horse cart. Lack of money and
little spare time kept her family close to home.
The
going wage for a farm worker in those days was $2.50 a day, which included room
and board. Jennie and her mother cooked the workers' meals and did their
laundry.
And
that's how she met Bob Cauzza, a young, hard-working Swiss immigrant. Her
father hired him to help on the farm. She was 16, and he was a few years older.
He didn't speak English or her parents' Italian, but he did speak Spanish, a
language common in their homelands.
The
couple married in 1932. A few years later, Bob Cauzza and Jennie's mother,
Maria, studied English together and became American citizens.
The
marriage lasted 65 years and produced two children, seven grandchildren, 15
great-grandchildren, and, so far, two great-great grandchildren.
It
also produced one of the many stories Jennie spun during her party. Some flowed
naturally from her still quick memory. Others were pried loose by friendly
family teasing. The following is a sampling:
Getting
married
Bob's
uncle, J.B. Cauzza, was a banker in Bakersfield and lived in a grand house on
Baker Street, north of St. Joseph's Church. It was his idea that the couple
should be married there. But when Bob and Jennie showed up to make the
arrangements, the priest refused, insisting their parish was in Wasco.
"He
told us we didn't belong there," Jennie recalled. "Hell, we didn't
even know where Wasco was."
Instead,
Bob's uncle arranged to have a judge marry the couple. But Jennie always
hankered for a church wedding. Decades later, she got her wish, when a friendly
priest arranged the paperwork.
The
only catch was that it was after her dear Bob had died in 1997 from Alzheimer's
disease. Her family still is amazed at her persistence and ability to pull off
what few would consider possible -- marrying a "groom" who already
had died. Jennie, on the other hand, smiled, her voice soft, as she told the
story, obviously still savoring the accomplishment.
The
Revenuers
For
those of us who never experienced Prohibition, it is hard to believe there was
a time -- from 1920 to 1933 -- when it was illegal to buy and sell beverages
containing alcohol. But apparently the law did not discourage folks in
Buttonwillow from doing so.
Jennie
recalled that she was living with her mother, father and brother "in the
camps when all of a sudden they put in distilleries."
A
big hole was dug, hog wire was run across it and a ring of hay stacks was built
to hide the factory.
Day
after day, trucks filled with 5-gallon cans of booze left Buttonwillow for Los
Angeles.
And
the community took on a "funny smell."
"Everyone
knew about it" and kept an eye out for the feds, she said. When the revenuers
would drop by, workers hid in the canals until they were gone. "No one got
in trouble."
A
day becomes 38 years
It
was 1934. Like the rest of the country, Kern County was reeling with the pain
of the Depression.
Jennie's
father, Salvadore, needed to hire a man to help with the harvest. A neighbor
sent him a temporary worker. The man was from Mexico. He had no family. He
promised to work hard. His temporary stay lasted a lifetime.
From
all accounts -- from Jennie and other family members -- Augustine Torres became
more than a worker. He became a part of the Fanucchi family. And when he died
in 1972, at the age of 89, they buried him. Jennie's brother, Gino, had grown
up to become the owner of Doughty-Calhoun-O'Meara Funeral Home in Bakersfield.
Who
burned down the school?
In
the Buttonwillow countryside, along Main Drain Road, is the burned-out hulk
that locals call "The Burnt School." The consensus of those at
Jennie's party was that its real name once was the Buttonwillow School.
Jennie
had attended the school before it burned down around 1923. The property was
later bought by a farmer, who never got around to clearing off the charred
remains. And for the decades that followed, they provoked curiosity and
mystery.
In
obvious anticipation of getting an answer to this whodunit, partygoers pressed
Jennie. Who burned The Burnt School?
It
was clear she had given the question years of thought. Her theory: The
potbellied stoves in the school's new auditorium overheated. "To me, the
oven did it."
Cooking
in an Italian oven
Speaking
of ovens -- and that's what folks at the Tracy Ranch wanted to do -- as Jennie
was preparing to wrap up her party and return to her home, she was taken out
back to an old brick Italian oven that Uncle Cecil Tracy, a serious collector
of "farm stuff" in the family, rescued from the "swamp."
Present-day Tracys claim it was acquired from Pete Riccomini.
"No
wonder he got rid of it," Jennie sniffed, with noticeable disdain as she
approached the oven and declared it to be in lousy shape. It wasn't a bit like
the one at her home place on Corn Camp Road, which she used until 1970.
The
key to cooking in these old ovens, she lectured, was the heating wood. She used
branches from peach trees, which filled the oven cavity and baking bread with a
sweet aroma. Many a day Jennie would bake eight to 10 loaves of bread in her
oven. And on Christmas, she "lit it up to cook the turkey."
But
like most things in Jennie's long life, she said cooking in one of these ovens
was a lot of hard work and required a lot of patience.
"If
you want things to turn out right, you constantly have to be there to watch
it."
This
story appeared in The Bakersfield Californian on June 4, 2010.
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