Winemaking in the Bayview - Revision history

Lisaruth: Protected "Winemaking in the Bayview" ([Edit=Allow only administrators] (indefinite) [Move=Allow only administrators] (indefinite))

2017-09-10T12:22:46Z

Protected "Winemaking in the Bayview" ([Edit=Allow only administrators] (indefinite) [Move=Allow only administrators] (indefinite))

← Older revision	Revision as of 05:22, 10 September 2017
(No difference)

Lisaruth: minor proofreading

2017-09-10T12:22:26Z

minor proofreading

Aiobrec13: Changed credits from Greg Garr to Private Collection

2014-06-16T21:49:41Z

Changed credits from Greg Garr to Private Collection

← Older revision		Revision as of 14:49, 16 June 2014
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	'''Southerly view of Bayshore Boulevard and Alemany Boulevard intersection, c. 1935'''		'''Southerly view of Bayshore Boulevard and Alemany Boulevard intersection, c. 1935'''

	''Photo: ~~Greg Gaar~~ Collection, San Francisco, CA''		''Photo: Private Collection, San Francisco, CA''

	[[Bayshore Blvd with Potrero Hill \|Prev. Document]] [[Islais Creek Remembered \|Next Document]]		[[Bayshore Blvd with Potrero Hill \|Prev. Document]] [[Islais Creek Remembered \|Next Document]]

	[[category:Bayview/Hunter's Point]] [[category:1930s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:Bernal Heights]] [[category:Italian]] [[category:Greek]] [[category:Portola]]		[[category:Bayview/Hunter's Point]] [[category:1930s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:Bernal Heights]] [[category:Italian]] [[category:Greek]] [[category:Portola]]

Ccarlsson: moved Bayshore and Alemany 1935 to Winemaking in the Bayview

2011-07-25T18:56:58Z

moved Bayshore and Alemany 1935 to Winemaking in the Bayview

← Older revision	Revision as of 11:56, 25 July 2011
(No difference)

Ccarlsson at 18:56, 25 July 2011

2011-07-25T18:56:25Z

@@ Line 1: / Line 1: @@
-'''<font face = arial light> <font color = maroon> <font size = 3>Unfinished History</font></font> </font>'''
+'''<font face = Papyrus> <font color = maroon> <font size = 4>"I was there..."</font></font> </font>'''
-[[Image:Bayshore-blvd-looking-south-at-Oakdale-1929.jpg|720px|thumb]]
+''By Ruth Eshow Upton''
-'''Bayshore Blvd looking southward at Oakdale, 1929.'''
+Early in the Fall the men in our neighborhood made wine. It was the only time that the fathers of our playmates socialized together. The Bayview District in the 1920’s and 1930’s was comprised of immigrants of differing nationalities who, as soon as they were able, bought houses in this semi-rural area where they could raise healthy children and grow flowers and fruit trees. They all worked hard and preferred to spend their limited leisure time with their families and their countrymen. Not that they were clannish, as I heard them described by monolingual Americans. It is that in their own language they could be witty and amusing as opposed to heavy and polite in a language they were in the process of learning. Our mothers made friends because of their common interest as homemakers. They assembled on the street when the Genovese truck farmers came around with their fresh produce. They joined to pick watercress that grew in the swampy ditch down the street. After the rains they looked for mushrooms that grew on Black Hill, above Candlestick Cove. And they all belonged to the Bret Harte Grammar School’s PTA.
 [[Image:bayvwhp$bayshore-and-alemany-c--1935.jpg]]
@@ Line 15: / Line 41: @@
 [[Bayshore Blvd with Potrero Hill  |Prev. Document]]  [[Islais Creek Remembered  |Next Document]]
-[[category:Bayview/Hunter's Point]] [[category:1930s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:Bernal Heights]]
+[[category:Bayview/Hunter's Point]] [[category:1930s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:Bernal Heights]] [[category:Italian]] [[category:Greek]] [[category:Portola]]

Ccarlsson: added new photo and new categories

2010-12-05T01:20:56Z

added new photo and new categories

← Older revision		Revision as of 18:20, 4 December 2010
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	'''<font face = arial light> <font color = maroon> <font size = 3>Unfinished History</font></font> </font>'''		'''<font face = arial light> <font color = maroon> <font size = 3>Unfinished History</font></font> </font>'''

			[[Image:Bayshore-blvd-looking-south-at-Oakdale-1929.jpg\|720px\|thumb]]

			'''Bayshore Blvd looking southward at Oakdale, 1929.'''

			''Photo: Shaping San Francisco collection''

	[[Image:bayvwhp$bayshore-and-alemany-c--1935.jpg]]		[[Image:bayvwhp$bayshore-and-alemany-c--1935.jpg]]

	'''Bayshore Boulevard and Alemany Boulevard intersection, c. 1935'''		'''Southerly view of Bayshore Boulevard and Alemany Boulevard intersection, c. 1935'''

	''Photo: Greg Gaar Collection, San Francisco, CA''		''Photo: Greg Gaar Collection, San Francisco, CA''
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	[[Bayshore Blvd with Potrero Hill \|Prev. Document]] [[Islais Creek Remembered \|Next Document]]		[[Bayshore Blvd with Potrero Hill \|Prev. Document]] [[Islais Creek Remembered \|Next Document]]

	[[category:Bayview/Hunter's Point]] [[category:1930s]]		[[category:Bayview/Hunter's Point]] [[category:1930s]] [[category:1920s]] [[category:Bernal Heights]]

Ccarlsson: PC

2008-12-31T02:12:11Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 19:12, 30 December 2008
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			'''<font face = arial light> <font color = maroon> <font size = 3>Unfinished History</font></font> </font>'''

	[[Image:bayvwhp$bayshore-and-alemany-c--1935.jpg]]		[[Image:bayvwhp$bayshore-and-alemany-c--1935.jpg]]

Ccarlsson: categories

2008-08-24T22:03:53Z

Ccarlsson at 22:57, 20 December 2007

2007-12-20T22:57:04Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 15:57, 20 December 2007
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	'''Bayshore Boulevard and Alemany Boulevard intersection, c. 1935'''		'''Bayshore Boulevard and Alemany Boulevard intersection, c. 1935'''

	~~''''''~~		photo courtesy Greg Gaar Collection, San Francisco, CA

	~~== 1935 photograph of the intersection of Bayshore Boulevard and Alemany Boulevard. ==~~

	[[Bayshore Blvd with Potrero Hill \|Prev. Document]] [[Islais Creek Remembered \|Next Document]]		[[Bayshore Blvd with Potrero Hill \|Prev. Document]] [[Islais Creek Remembered \|Next Document]]

Ccarlsson at 22:56, 20 December 2007

2007-12-20T22:56:08Z

← Older revision		Revision as of 15:56, 20 December 2007
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	== 1935 photograph of the intersection of Bayshore Boulevard and Alemany Boulevard. ==		== 1935 photograph of the intersection of Bayshore Boulevard and Alemany Boulevard. ==

	[[Bayshore Blvd with Potrero Hill Prev. Document]] [[Islais Creek Remembered Next Document]]		[[Bayshore Blvd with Potrero Hill \|Prev. Document]] [[Islais Creek Remembered \|Next Document]]

← Older revision		Revision as of 15:03, 24 August 2008
Line 3:		Line 3:
	'''Bayshore Boulevard and Alemany Boulevard intersection, c. 1935'''		'''Bayshore Boulevard and Alemany Boulevard intersection, c. 1935'''

	~~photo courtesy~~ Greg Gaar Collection, San Francisco, CA		''Photo: Greg Gaar Collection, San Francisco, CA''

	[[Bayshore Blvd with Potrero Hill \|Prev. Document]] [[Islais Creek Remembered \|Next Document]]		[[Bayshore Blvd with Potrero Hill \|Prev. Document]] [[Islais Creek Remembered \|Next Document]]

			[[category:Bayview/Hunter's Point]] [[category:1930s]]

← Older revision		Revision as of 05:22, 10 September 2017
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	''By Ruth Eshow Upton''		''By Ruth Eshow Upton''

	Early in the Fall the men in our neighborhood made wine. It was the only time that the fathers of our playmates socialized together. The Bayview District in the ~~1920’s~~ and ~~1930’s~~ was comprised of immigrants of differing nationalities who, as soon as they were able, bought houses in this semi-rural area where they could raise healthy children and grow flowers and fruit trees. They all worked hard and preferred to spend their limited leisure time with their families and their countrymen. Not that they were clannish, as I heard them described by monolingual Americans. It is that in their own language they could be witty and amusing as opposed to heavy and polite in a language they were in the process of learning. Our mothers made friends because of their common interest as homemakers. They assembled on the street when the Genovese truck farmers came around with their fresh produce. They joined to pick watercress that grew in the swampy ditch down the street. After the rains they looked for mushrooms that grew on Black Hill, above Candlestick Cove. And they all belonged to the Bret Harte Grammar ~~School’s~~ PTA.		Early in the Fall the men in our neighborhood made wine. It was the only time that the fathers of our playmates socialized together. The Bayview District in the 1920s and 1930s was comprised of immigrants of differing nationalities who, as soon as they were able, bought houses in this semi-rural area where they could raise healthy children and grow flowers and fruit trees. They all worked hard and preferred to spend their limited leisure time with their families and their countrymen. Not that they were clannish, as I heard them described by monolingual Americans. It is that in their own language they could be witty and amusing as opposed to heavy and polite in a language they were in the process of learning. Our mothers made friends because of their common interest as homemakers. They assembled on the street when the Genovese truck farmers came around with their fresh produce. They joined to pick watercress that grew in the swampy ditch down the street. After the rains they looked for mushrooms that grew on Black Hill, above Candlestick Cove. And they all belonged to the Bret Harte Grammar School PTA.

	[[Image:San-Bruno-and-Silver-1927-AAB-5240.jpg]]		[[Image:San-Bruno-and-Silver-1927-AAB-5240.jpg]]
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	In September there was a change. The fathers got together to schedule the winemaking. One man owned or rented the crusher which he then rented to the winemakers. Each man fixed a date to use it. The grapes were ordered to be delivered the day before the crusher’s use. No one warned me when it was my father’s turn. It was a shock to find lugs of Thompson ~~Seedless~~ grapes lined up on our driveway on coming home from school. An unpleasant odor of ~~over-ripe~~ grapes filled the air; tiny fruit flies hovered over them. I knew that life would be topsy-~~turvey~~ for the next few days. The house would seem empty without my mother in the warm kitchen. Absent were the familiar fragrances emanating from pots simmering on the top of the stove or the aroma of bread baking in the oven. My mother was outside hauling the boxes of grapes to my father, who emptied them into the crusher. At a dollar a day for its rental and with others waiting, he had to work fast. After the press, he transferred the juice to the vat that occupied a corner of our garage. When the grapes had turned into wine he filled the bottles, corked them and stored them in the small wine cellar he’d built. My father was enormously proud of the output, a dry golden liquor that we all admired.		In September there was a change. The fathers got together to schedule the winemaking. One man owned or rented the crusher which he then rented to the winemakers. Each man fixed a date to use it. The grapes were ordered to be delivered the day before the crusher’s use. No one warned me when it was my father’s turn. It was a shock to find lugs of Thompson seedless grapes lined up on our driveway on coming home from school. An unpleasant odor of overripe grapes filled the air; tiny fruit flies hovered over them. I knew that life would be topsy-turvy for the next few days. The house would seem empty without my mother in the warm kitchen. Absent were the familiar fragrances emanating from pots simmering on the top of the stove or the aroma of bread baking in the oven. My mother was outside hauling the boxes of grapes to my father, who emptied them into the crusher. At a dollar a day for its rental and with others waiting, he had to work fast. After the press, he transferred the juice to the vat that occupied a corner of our garage. When the grapes had turned into wine he filled the bottles, corked them and stored them in the small wine cellar he’d built. My father was enormously proud of the output, a dry golden liquor that we all admired.

	Next came wine tasting. The men made the rounds, sampling each other’s wine. Mr. Zarosi, our next-door neighbor, a Romanian, made red wine from Muscat grapes, I think. Each year, after the tasting, my father sniffed, “Zarosi must have put a sack of sugar in his wine!” (This remark stayed with me ~~always~~ so that I have always chosen wines labeled “sec.”		Next came wine tasting. The men made the rounds, sampling each other’s wine. Mr. Zarosi, our next-door neighbor, a Romanian, made red wine from Muscat grapes, I think. Each year, after the tasting, my father sniffed, “Zarosi must have put a sack of sugar in his wine!” (This remark stayed with me so that I have always chosen wines labeled “sec.”)

	[[Image:San-Bruno-Avenue-1928-AAB-5243.jpg]]		[[Image:San-Bruno-Avenue-1928-AAB-5243.jpg]]
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	''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''		''Photo: San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library''

	Then came visits from his countrymen from other parts of the city. Three or four arrived together. After the salutations in Assyrian—“Shlamalokh, babit yimi!”—they descended to the wine cellar where they admired the collection and tasted the wine.( One afternoon three-year old Lily wandered down to join them. They must have given her a sip of wine because when she came back into our kitchen-dining room she wove around, laughing and acting silly. She crawled under the round oak dining table and had to be coaxed out.) In a little while they came upstairs, jovial, talkative, and settled themselves around the big, round oak table. We children cleared out but we could hear them clinking their glasses after the toast, “Dahksoon.”		Then came visits from his countrymen from other parts of the city. Three or four arrived together. After the salutations in Assyrian—“Shlamalokh, babit yimi!”—they descended to the wine cellar where they admired the collection and tasted the wine. (One afternoon three-year old Lily wandered down to join them. They must have given her a sip of wine because when she came back into our kitchen-dining room she wove around, laughing and acting silly. She crawled under the round oak dining table and had to be coaxed out.) In a little while they came upstairs, jovial, talkative, and settled themselves around the big, round oak table. We children cleared out but we could hear them clinking their glasses after the toast, “Dahksoon.”

	They reminisced about their youth in Urmia and spoke of going to Baghdad where they would live like princes on the American dollars they were saving. My sisters and I, eavesdropping, were dismayed. Lily, the youngest, burst into tears. “We don’t want to go to Baghdad,” we wailed. My mother soothingly assured us not to worry, no one was going anywhere. They sang songs in Assyrian, Turkish and Kurdish, a hand cupped over the right ear. My father had written all the lyrics in the Aramaic script ion a little black book. Soon they moved to the living room where the Victrola was. They danced in line, flourishing a handkerchief; usually included was the Tanzara, whose music and steps intrigued me..		They reminisced about their youth in Urmia and spoke of going to Baghdad where they would live like princes on the American dollars they were saving. My sisters and I, eavesdropping, were dismayed. Lily, the youngest, burst into tears. “We don’t want to go to Baghdad,” we wailed. My mother soothingly assured us not to worry, no one was going anywhere. They sang songs in Assyrian, Turkish, and Kurdish, a hand cupped over the right ear. My father had written all the lyrics in the Aramaic script ion a little black book. Soon they moved to the living room where the Victrola was. They danced in line, flourishing a handkerchief; usually included was the Tanzara, whose music and steps intrigued me.

	When the men departed, they were in a in a happy mood, each carrying a bottle of my father’s wine.		When the men departed, they were in a in a happy mood, each carrying a bottle of my father’s wine.

	As my mother predicted, no one went to Baghdad. Instead, they moved to the San Joaquin Valley town of Turlock where there was a growing colony of Assyrians from Lake Urrmia in Persia. They had found the humid climate perfect for raising sweet melons; they thrived, their children grew up as Americans.. After my father died, his friends came to the house to offer condolences. One timidly asked my mother for the book of lyrics; she gave it to him gladly.		As my mother predicted, no one went to Baghdad. Instead, they moved to the San Joaquin Valley town of Turlock where there was a growing colony of Assyrians from Lake Urrmia in Persia. They had found the humid climate perfect for raising sweet melons; they thrived, their children grew up as Americans. After my father died, his friends came to the house to offer condolences. One timidly asked my mother for the book of lyrics; she gave it to him gladly.

	When we packed to move from Le Conte Avenue to the Richmond District in 1939 we came across one bottle of wine. Its golden liquid gleamed clearly through the glass. We never opened it. I don’t know whatever became of it.		When we packed to move from Le Conte Avenue to the Richmond District in 1939 we came across one bottle of wine. Its golden liquid gleamed clearly through the glass. We never opened it. I don’t know whatever became of it.