[Article and pictures taken from "Cucamonga Valley's Grapevine Press" April/May, 1999 Volume II, No. VII, page 14]

I was born in 1918. I was told I was born under a grapevine on Haven Avenue, but I don't know (laughter).

My father came here from Salamanca, Spain. My brother and sister were born there. So was mother. My father worked at the Guasti Winery. He lived on Feron in Cucamonga before I was born. He built this enormous winery near the southwest corner of Baseline and Hermosa at the end of prohibition in 1933.

All the rocks that make up that building came from the vineyards. Nine wagon loads a day came, and two Mexican men put that entire building up. The stone walls two feet thick and over 40 feet high.

As a girl, there were never enough kids to play with. There was only one house across the street. The little girl who lived there played "bear" with me. Every time a car would come by, which was seldom, we'd run and jump up in the tree. "There comes the bear!" It was fun.

Her dad used to be the Postmaster of Cucamonga -- Bill Kincaid. Other than that, all I played with were my animals. I had sheep, dogs, and a beautiful white goat named Zaza that danced on a barrel.

Everything around my home was orange groves. High walnut trees lined this part of Hermosa. The grape harvest was celebrated down on Foothill and Archibald with booths and dancing. People were very happy at that time.

I started kindergarten at the Catholic school across from St. George's in Ontario. I kicked a nun in the shin because she made me sit with a boy (laughter). After that I went to Central School in Cucamonga. They had another school (Cucamonga Elementary), down in what they called Mexican Town. From there I went to Chaffey High School and Chaffey Junior College.

Later I married a captain in the Air Force, Robert Bruce Courtney, Jr. What a handsome man he was. I enjoyed being a mother to little Robbie and my girl, Roseanne.

I miss the closeness that existed among the members of the Cucamonga Service Club. We used to meet at the Sycamore Inn and dance down in the basement.

My dad worked in the winery until the 60's. He was 95 when he died. He ended up in a rest home. But you know what was so great about that? I didn't have to put him there. He did it himself. I said, "Dad, I will never put you in a rest home. I will always take care of you." He said, in Spanish, "You know, hija, I want to go to that home. Take me there." That’s what I did. He was the boss.

I love people. I want them to love me for what I am. I want to do what I've always done -- work hard and take care of my place.