The Chantaca Home On Hosmer
By Larry J. Rodarte © The Diaz Observer, July 2001
At 2334 Hosmer there is a grey and very debilitated home that looks as if it will soon fall down. I recently rode by and felt a little sad at its current condition. Still, I smiled because I have very fond memories as a toddler at this address. I say toddler because it was here that I spent many a days before I entered Kindergarten — just mom, Aunt Della and me.
Going back some 30 years ago, I can still envision a dark green house with whispering willow trees and green pears that had fallen to the ground. To the right of the house was an old Jeep that I remember playing in. It was as if it was put out to pasture.
Whenever we entered the house, ALWAYS, the first sound was the notorious barking of a dog named Tippy. Bark, bark, bark and more barking right in my face, eye level, until Uncle Jack would chase him away from me.
Then I would notice the delicious smells that was indicative of the Chantaca home. Always cooking and canning. I can still envision her kitchen with the black speckled ollas and bushels and bushels of tomato. Mom would immediately put on a apron and there they went, the canning ladies of the late '60s. And if it wasn't canning they were spreading masa. How many of us can remember our tias or mothers like this in those days?
I'm sure I heard a lot about our Díaz family in that old kitchen on Hosmer, but I was too young to understand to write about it today. I do remember hearing a lot about Cousin Rita and a guy named Frank Gallardo. I'll never forget how Aunt Della, Mom and I went with Rita to say good-bye to Frank at the airport when he was drafted during the Vietnam War.
"I want to go with Frank, I want to go with Frank, FRANK!” screamed Rita, as Mom and Aunt Della held her back. I thought Rita had gone nuts, but now I understand. Since Rita was a beautician (and I still can remember her working at the Fort Saginaw Mall), for a while there I confused her with Diana Ross with all her hairdos.
Back at the house on Hosmer, I seem to remember an old narrow staircase leading to upstairs. It would creak as you climbed and I distinctly remember 2 x 4s of unfinished walls and a doorway made of what I'll call hippie beads. Step through them and you were in Cousin Christina's room. I think I can even see a lava lamp. Chris, with that long light brown hair, truly was Aunt Della's hippie. She was always baby-sitting me and I tell ya, she made a mean french toast.
One day I remember going over to Aunt Della's and for the first time she had gotten a dryer. Not sure about the washer, but I know she got a dryer, or was it vice versa? It was a pea green color.
Anyway, the girls were all happy about it too, but I still can see Eleanor hanging the big sheets out on the clothesline on the side of the garage. Whenever I would see Elle, she always greeted me the same way, "Larry, Larry." In those years, I thought Eleanor was "Wonder Woman" 'cause when Uncle Jack and Johnny had gotten in a car accident at the end of the block, it was Eleanor, who I think was riding behind them, who was able to step out and pry open the car door with her bare hands. She was strong and loved the song "Aquarius" by the 5th Dimension. "When the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligned with Mars." That was Elle, and she was my hero!
I distinctly remember one day when there were a lot of cousins over. I was wondering around the yard, because they're weren't any other five- year-olds around. Anyway, Danny, and I think Timmy Colmus, were playing in this huge cardboard box out in front of the back porch. It probably fit something like a refrigerator in it. They were using it as a fort and climbing in and out and punching holes in the top. And then there comes little Larry — bad move.
The minute I crawled in, Danny pushed me back and my hand was cut on one of those large gold staples. I screamed bloody murder, and it was Eleanor who came to my rescue. I can still hear her yelling out the back porch, "You're going to get it Danny." Geez, what a memory I have. Those really were the good old days.
Speaking of Danny, he always seemed to be singing. I think at one time his room was the first room in the front of the house and I can see him listening to Santana records with headphones. I remember him singing the Doobie Brothers, too.
"I wanna hear some funky dixie leopard and mama's gonna take me by the hand, by the hand, hand.. take me by the hand... pretty mama," Danny would sing. Anyone remember that? If I was lucky, Danny would sometimes let me sit in his soapbox derby car, but that was really his pride and joy. He would race his car over in Buena Vista by the highway and win.
Now Johnny was another story. Five or six years older than me, I remember how he was a teaser. He would antagonize and try to get Cousin Phil Delgado and I to fight. Still there were good times, like when Johnny and I would walk to the corner store somewhere close to Perkins Street. We would buy pop or ice cream and always stop by Grandma and Grandpa Chantaca's home on the way back. He would watch out for me to make sure I didn't get hit by a car.
Oh and I almost forgot Gloria. I can remember sitting on the front porch with Gloria and my sister Nancy while she would put polish on her toenails. She always seemed to be wearing a bandana in her hair or big fat curlers and I'd often hear her saying, "I know you shame."
Anyway, one day this old black man with a guitar came walking down the street and Gloria gave us pennies to throw at him. He would always smile and wave, and we'd wave back yelling, "Jake, Jake." I think that was his name.
I have a lot more memories of that old house on Hosmer and its occupants. Sometimes, say at the family reunions, you might hear some of the older girl cousins say how bad I was. I'm talking like Sylvia Díaz or Joanie Castañeda or even Chris Chantaca herself.
But really, I wasn't bad. I was a good kid, except the time when I scratched Aunt Della's new dining room table. It must of been the late sixties and Tía was showing Mom her new table in the middle of the house. I just remember it was brown and shiny. When they went into the kitchen, I did what kids do, I scratched a little here, and I scratched a little there. I thought I was coloring. The only witness, I think, was Tippy, that notorious barking dog. So if I never said it, I'm saying it here — 30 years late, "SORRY, TÍA."
Sometime in the early '70s, the Chantaca family moved to the house on Mapleridge in Carrollton. There, like the house on Hosmer, many family gatherings have taken place. New memories made and new faces as the family has grown. They still have barking dogs when you go over, and I believe Aunt Della still has the scratched table, but now I am a grown man — no longer the little boy who cut his leg on the side of the house on the broken basement window.
Today, I recognize and appreciate the impact Tía and her family have had on me. With Mom and her being so close, they have always been a part of my life. I actually can remember when Lisa Gallardo was born in 1969. Being the first Chantaca grandchild, everyone adored her.
I've witnessed the good and the bad, and years of our families growing. Tía Della has always been such a strong hold for me in regards to the family reunions, always willing to volunteer her home for meetings (or making tamales), and always having the post reunion party when we're all whipped after the big day. She has been the heart of our entire Diaz family who has kept up so many memories as “Baby Diaz,” witnessing so many years of family history. Nothing but love...
I think we all have memories of the times at the house on Mapleridge, and they will continue. Still, I'll always fondly remember the Chantaca family of the late '60s and that big green house on Hosmer with those whispering willow trees.
Going back some 30 years ago, I can still envision a dark green house with whispering willow trees and green pears that had fallen to the ground. To the right of the house was an old Jeep that I remember playing in. It was as if it was put out to pasture.
Whenever we entered the house, ALWAYS, the first sound was the notorious barking of a dog named Tippy. Bark, bark, bark and more barking right in my face, eye level, until Uncle Jack would chase him away from me.
Then I would notice the delicious smells that was indicative of the Chantaca home. Always cooking and canning. I can still envision her kitchen with the black speckled ollas and bushels and bushels of tomato. Mom would immediately put on a apron and there they went, the canning ladies of the late '60s. And if it wasn't canning they were spreading masa. How many of us can remember our tias or mothers like this in those days?
I'm sure I heard a lot about our Díaz family in that old kitchen on Hosmer, but I was too young to understand to write about it today. I do remember hearing a lot about Cousin Rita and a guy named Frank Gallardo. I'll never forget how Aunt Della, Mom and I went with Rita to say good-bye to Frank at the airport when he was drafted during the Vietnam War.
"I want to go with Frank, I want to go with Frank, FRANK!” screamed Rita, as Mom and Aunt Della held her back. I thought Rita had gone nuts, but now I understand. Since Rita was a beautician (and I still can remember her working at the Fort Saginaw Mall), for a while there I confused her with Diana Ross with all her hairdos.
Back at the house on Hosmer, I seem to remember an old narrow staircase leading to upstairs. It would creak as you climbed and I distinctly remember 2 x 4s of unfinished walls and a doorway made of what I'll call hippie beads. Step through them and you were in Cousin Christina's room. I think I can even see a lava lamp. Chris, with that long light brown hair, truly was Aunt Della's hippie. She was always baby-sitting me and I tell ya, she made a mean french toast.
One day I remember going over to Aunt Della's and for the first time she had gotten a dryer. Not sure about the washer, but I know she got a dryer, or was it vice versa? It was a pea green color.
Anyway, the girls were all happy about it too, but I still can see Eleanor hanging the big sheets out on the clothesline on the side of the garage. Whenever I would see Elle, she always greeted me the same way, "Larry, Larry." In those years, I thought Eleanor was "Wonder Woman" 'cause when Uncle Jack and Johnny had gotten in a car accident at the end of the block, it was Eleanor, who I think was riding behind them, who was able to step out and pry open the car door with her bare hands. She was strong and loved the song "Aquarius" by the 5th Dimension. "When the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligned with Mars." That was Elle, and she was my hero!
I distinctly remember one day when there were a lot of cousins over. I was wondering around the yard, because they're weren't any other five- year-olds around. Anyway, Danny, and I think Timmy Colmus, were playing in this huge cardboard box out in front of the back porch. It probably fit something like a refrigerator in it. They were using it as a fort and climbing in and out and punching holes in the top. And then there comes little Larry — bad move.
The minute I crawled in, Danny pushed me back and my hand was cut on one of those large gold staples. I screamed bloody murder, and it was Eleanor who came to my rescue. I can still hear her yelling out the back porch, "You're going to get it Danny." Geez, what a memory I have. Those really were the good old days.
Speaking of Danny, he always seemed to be singing. I think at one time his room was the first room in the front of the house and I can see him listening to Santana records with headphones. I remember him singing the Doobie Brothers, too.
"I wanna hear some funky dixie leopard and mama's gonna take me by the hand, by the hand, hand.. take me by the hand... pretty mama," Danny would sing. Anyone remember that? If I was lucky, Danny would sometimes let me sit in his soapbox derby car, but that was really his pride and joy. He would race his car over in Buena Vista by the highway and win.
Now Johnny was another story. Five or six years older than me, I remember how he was a teaser. He would antagonize and try to get Cousin Phil Delgado and I to fight. Still there were good times, like when Johnny and I would walk to the corner store somewhere close to Perkins Street. We would buy pop or ice cream and always stop by Grandma and Grandpa Chantaca's home on the way back. He would watch out for me to make sure I didn't get hit by a car.
Oh and I almost forgot Gloria. I can remember sitting on the front porch with Gloria and my sister Nancy while she would put polish on her toenails. She always seemed to be wearing a bandana in her hair or big fat curlers and I'd often hear her saying, "I know you shame."
Anyway, one day this old black man with a guitar came walking down the street and Gloria gave us pennies to throw at him. He would always smile and wave, and we'd wave back yelling, "Jake, Jake." I think that was his name.
I have a lot more memories of that old house on Hosmer and its occupants. Sometimes, say at the family reunions, you might hear some of the older girl cousins say how bad I was. I'm talking like Sylvia Díaz or Joanie Castañeda or even Chris Chantaca herself.
But really, I wasn't bad. I was a good kid, except the time when I scratched Aunt Della's new dining room table. It must of been the late sixties and Tía was showing Mom her new table in the middle of the house. I just remember it was brown and shiny. When they went into the kitchen, I did what kids do, I scratched a little here, and I scratched a little there. I thought I was coloring. The only witness, I think, was Tippy, that notorious barking dog. So if I never said it, I'm saying it here — 30 years late, "SORRY, TÍA."
Sometime in the early '70s, the Chantaca family moved to the house on Mapleridge in Carrollton. There, like the house on Hosmer, many family gatherings have taken place. New memories made and new faces as the family has grown. They still have barking dogs when you go over, and I believe Aunt Della still has the scratched table, but now I am a grown man — no longer the little boy who cut his leg on the side of the house on the broken basement window.
Today, I recognize and appreciate the impact Tía and her family have had on me. With Mom and her being so close, they have always been a part of my life. I actually can remember when Lisa Gallardo was born in 1969. Being the first Chantaca grandchild, everyone adored her.
I've witnessed the good and the bad, and years of our families growing. Tía Della has always been such a strong hold for me in regards to the family reunions, always willing to volunteer her home for meetings (or making tamales), and always having the post reunion party when we're all whipped after the big day. She has been the heart of our entire Diaz family who has kept up so many memories as “Baby Diaz,” witnessing so many years of family history. Nothing but love...
I think we all have memories of the times at the house on Mapleridge, and they will continue. Still, I'll always fondly remember the Chantaca family of the late '60s and that big green house on Hosmer with those whispering willow trees.
