My grandfather was one of the original dust bowl migrants in the 1930s. I didn’t know that until recently, when my mother showed me this photograph and we started talking about him. Evidently, my father went to California for the first time when he was fourteen (which would have been 1939). Jess had been there for a while, looking for work.
I never really knew him. My father didn’t get along with him (I’ll leave it at that).