The Ilocano Gang of Salinas Valley
/
1937 Filipino Labor Supply Association
Front row left Tomas Lactonia, labor contractor, cockfighting promoter
Front row second from right Pablo Tangonan, labor contractor, businessman, farmer
Back row third from right Alfonso Castillo, President of the Filipino Community of the Salinas Valley, labor contractor, chemist
Back row fourth from left Julian Iberra, labor contractor
I remember what a treat it was for me as a child to visit or listen them share their stories on the ranches where they lived or on the farms they owned in the evenings before bedtime. Their often-repeated stories became part of my memory.
I learned to play poker from them, and I became a pretty good gambler. They enjoyed playing pranks on each other or telling stories, often with themselves the victims of their jokes. I learned to play pranks on city kids who used to come to the farms to visit. I had a set of chores the Manongs made me do for them when we visited. I harvested eggs from the henhouse, milked the cows and goats, and cleaned up the cow dung from the barns.
In turn, I showed the kids how to do my chores, which they seemed to enjoy. One pesky kid wanted to milk my cow but didn’t know how to be gentle, so I suggested he try milking a one-nipple cow instead. One Christmas, I was told to babysit a three-year-old boy, but I wanted to play with the other kids. So I tied a string of cranberries and popcorn to his pants, and soon, all the hens and roosters chased him all over the yard. The Manongs laughed so hard they rewarded me with quarters and defended me when my mother tried to punish me.
They always admonished me not to work in the fields. Education, they told me, was my ticket to a better life. I did not listen to them, and when I flunked out of college in my first semester, Lolo Alfonso exiled me to one of his field crews in the Imperial Valley in December 1964. I was fortunate to be drafted in September 1965 and to participate in five farm labor strikes and be in Delano when the grape strike began. During those ten months with them, I started my education in Filipino American history from listening to their stories.
Faustino’s Story – Retired U.S. Army, Leader of The Ilocano Gangsters
I don’t remember my grandfather, Faustino Fabros, but the manongs I grew up with were his townmates and fellow adventure travelers in California. From them, I learned about him and how he created his gang.
Faustino Fabros, Salinas, California, 1932
Faustino was born in Candon, Ilocos Sur, in 1876. He had joined the Guardia Civil, the local police force composed of Spanish officers and non-criollo natives or indios who enforced peace and good order in the villages. After the police force was abolished, the United States replaced it with the Philippine Constabulary.
Faustino married Antonia de Leon from Candon, and their children, Pascuala (1903) and Alejandro (1907), were born in Bayambang, Pangasinan. Because his mother died giving birth to Alejandro, his aunts and relatives raised him while his father was working.
In 1918, the 27th Infantry Regiment, US Army, then stationed in the Philippines, was ordered as part of the American Expeditionary Force sent to Siberia. Philippine Constabulary and Philippine Scouts were authorized to enlist in the U.S. Army to bring the regiment up to full strength. He served in Russia from August 1918 to March 1921, when it was transferred to the Hawaiian Division at Schofield Barracks on Oahu, Hawaii. Faustino retired from the regular army in 1924 and remained in Hawaii instead of returning to the Philippines.
The first 15 Filipino workers, sakadas, arrived in December 1906 in Hawaii. They were initially from Candon and were assigned to the Ola’a Plantation on Hawaii Island. The wives of the four married men remained in the Philippines. In 1907, another 30 Filipinos, including two women and two children, arrived. After visiting them before he retired, Faustino decided he would not remain in Hawaii to work. Instead, he went to the Salinas Valley to join his townmates from Tarlac, Tarlac.
Alfonso’s Story – Filipino Social Club, Distiller, Bootleggers
Alfonso, “The Professor,” had taught high school chemistry in Pangasinan before immigrating to the US in 1919. He found employment at the Fremont Military Camp hospital (the Menlo Park VA campus) and took classes at Stanford in Chemistry.
Faustino Fabros’ gang protected the Filipino Social Clubs, taxi dance halls, and bootlegging operations.
Filipinos attending Stanford had Filipino Social Club meetings at Dr. Effie York's home in Palo Alto. The board of directors included Professor R.E. Swain, head of the department of chemistry at Stanford, Dr. Alvin J. Cox, a Stanford graduate and former director of the Bureau of the Science of the Filipino government in Manila, and the Reverend F.E. Morgan, pastor of the local Baptist church and general secretary of the Stanford Y.M.C.A.
They met weekly for Bible study at Dr. York's home until they found a home they wanted to rent at 711 Cowper Street. A petition from Mrs. J.W. Mansfield, president of the Woman’s Club of Palo Alto, and more than 20 others was submitted to the Palo Alto Chamber of Commerce objecting to the Filipino Social Club in an area zoned for social clubs.
The Filipina Women’s Club of Salinas, 1930s. Most are wives of the Filipino labor contractor in Salinas, California.
The Board of Directors of the Filipino Club responded in a letter to the editor of the Palo Alto Peninsula Times Tribune on January 8, 1921. On that day, the Palo Alto City Council received the petition from the Palo Alto Planning Commission, submitted by the Palo Alto Chamber of Commerce, Palo Alto Woman’s Club, and the native Sons of the Golden West.
Reverand F.E. Morgan responded in the paper’s forum section of the zoning system about what it can and cannot do. He pointed out that the petitioners did not live within the boundaries of the area designated for social clubs or other businesses.
This was followed by a letter from the Epworth League of the Palo Alto Methodist Church protesting against race discrimination to the City Planning Commission. They lamented the exhibition of race prejudice against the Filipino Club on Cowper Street.
Finally, on 20 January 1921, the Planning Commission passed a resolution and sent it to the City Council stating that it was beyond the Commission’s legal power to grant the relief sought.
City Attorney N.E. Malcolm and Mayor A.M. Cathcart presented the legal aspects of the matter, quoting the State Supreme Court decisions. They stated that “no zoning or segregation regulations for racial purposes or along racial lines is constitutional. They added, "To rezone to eliminate any particular thing from a zone in which it has been legally established is class zoning and will not be sanctioned by the courts. Cases from Los Angeles and San Francisco of similar nature have been so decided by the courts of the State.” They also added that the proposed re-zoning ordinance could not be retroactive, and since the clubhouse had already been established, it could not be barred. Alfonso recalled that the Stanford Filipino Club entertained the Stanford Women’s Club by performing songs from the Philippines and native folk dances.
Faustino learned from Alfonso’s experience that cities cannot prohibit groups from opening social clubs based on racial discrimination. In the towns where his crews spent many weeks, he established social clubs that rented or purchased large homes in areas zoned for the activity. Over time, they had over ten locations throughout the state where he could send ten to twenty women taxi dancers. He rotated the groups weekly so there were always new girls for the men to dance with and to prevent long-term relationships that could turn deadly.
Prohibition was still in full force in the late 1920s, and Alfonso became the group's distiller. He could make alcohol from almost anything, including fermented rice, potatoes, sugar beets, grains, and barley. Because they didn’t have the facilities or the time to age the alcohol to remove the bitterness, Alfonso added caramelized sugar to the final brew, which gave the booze a pleasant taste and the look of rum or whiskey. It was then bottled in wine or beer bottles or even Mason jars. This was sold in Filipino social clubs, taxi dance halls, gambling halls, and cockfights.
Delfin’s Story – Philippines Mail, Taxi Dance Halls, Gambling
Delfin started as a labor contractor but eventually became a businessman, running the Philippines Mail newspaper in Salinas from around 1933 until the 1990s.
The Philippines Mail newspaper
Right front, Alex de Leon Fabros, Philippines Mail journalist and editorialist, Salinas Filipino community leader, sports editor Daily Pacifican, sports editor Stars and Stripes Europe
Second from right, Delfin Cruz, publisher
Center standing George Aquino, a writer for the Philippines Mail.
The remainder are Salinas Filipino businessmen.
Faustino, Alfonso, and Delfin ran the business side of the enterprise. Delfin ran the taxi dance operations, and it was his responsibility to ensure that halls were rented, bands booked, and gambling and bootlegging operations in place to entertain the workers.
I was told the emphasis was on young white women. Dance crews with Black or Mexican women did not do as well as those with an all-white female crew. In the 1920s, women averaged around 26 dollars for six ten-hour workdays. These women earned extra money on the weekend working in taxi dance halls. Taxi dancers needed to dance one hundred times a night to make five dollars, working from 7:30 p.m. to 1:00 a.m. The women working for Faustino had their living expenses covered when they went to the dance halls in the farming communities.
The men were charged ten cents a dance, and depending on how business was that night, the dances averaged about 90 seconds. The women made five cents from the ten-cent dance.
Faustino rotated his dance crews to prevent the men from claiming a woman was their girlfriend and stop other men from dancing with them. This sometimes led to tragic consequences when men, in a jealous rage, killed women they felt were their lovers, even if it was for just 90 seconds.
Many of these bandsmen were former members of bands that provided music for the Filipino taxi dance halls.
The Chinese ran most of the gambling establishments in the Chinatowns where Filipinos went to gamble. Faustino and his crew ensured gambling was available for the men who didn’t want to spend a dime for nothing except a thankyou at the end of ninety seconds. Gambling was under the control of the Chinese Tongs in California since they were well-established in almost every town with a train station. Faustino started offering Chinese games of chance, such as Pai Gow, Fan Tan, Tien Gow, and Big Two, in Filipino social clubs. Depending on how large the crowd was, craps tables and roulette wheels were often added.
The Filipinos soon monopolized gambling in the rural farming communities. Pai Gow required great skill and the ability to place the tiles in the correct order for payouts. Women often ran the other games with “women’s issues,” and they were paid for the hours worked. The women could earn an extra dollar by selling bottles of bootleg alcohol to dance patrons.
Alfonso and his crew distilled the booze and delivered it to the dance halls. To protect his trade, Faustino’s bootleggers were well armed with Thompson machineguns and pistols. Most of the men providing protection were former Philippine Constabulary or Philippine Scouts. They were paid a little more than the others and tended to dress and act like the gangsters portrayed in movies.
Faustino Fabros’ bootlegging distributors.
Tomas’ Story – Labor Contractor, Cockfights, Florida
Tomas eventually ran cockfighting operations, often running at least one tournament a week and sometimes a weekend of activities with as many as 900 spectators. In communities with a large presence of Filipino women, it was an opportunity to make extra money selling dishes and desserts that reminded the men of what they left behind on the islands.
Tomas Lacitonia, sabong promoter, labor contractor
The cockpit was often a temporary corral to keep the spectators away from the roosters. The roosters would be brought out and staked in their part of the corral while the spectators observed and placed their bets.
The Manongs told me they tried to keep the sabong a secret since cockfighting was illegal in California. Eventually, although it was unlawful, the authorities found ways to profit from the spectators. Trying to keep a secret within the Filipino community is almost impossible since everyone wants to participate in the cockfighting events.
If authorities eventually learned of a planned cockfight, and depending on the estimated crowd, they deputized up to one hundred men to participate in the raid. These raids were usually held late in the day when a large crowd had already gathered. At a given signal, the authorities raided the cockfight and prevented the spectators from scattering.
The Filipinos knew that if they were caught with anything that could be considered a weapon, the penalties could be harsher. As one deputy observed, there were all kinds of weapons on the ground, including pistols, knives, brass knuckles, and a few automatic weapons. But since they didn’t know who was carrying the weapons all they could do was to confiscate them.
As the crowds grew, the authorities became more creative in dealing with justice instead of trying to house them in the local jail. The sheriff would contract with a local justice of the peace, and a temporary court would be set up where the cock fighting had taken place. In 1934, there was one incident where fifty were charged as active participants, and four hundred and fifty were charged as spectators. The justice of the peace set bail at $10 for each individual, knowing that most would not show up for trial the following week. If they were found guilty, the fine would probably be double the bail fee, with a month in the county jail for hard labor. This incident netted the sheriff at least $5,000 profit and maybe more. The confiscated roosters were fed to the prisoners.
Pablo’s Story – Labor Contractor, Businessman, Iowa Filipinos with Japanese Wives.
Some Filipinos discovered that second-generation Japanese American women were willing partners, and there were numerous marriages, especially in the remote farming communities where women’s only choices were often men 20 or more years older, divorced, or were widowers. Since the Japanese were not considered “white,” there was no opposition to the Filipinos and Japanese getting married. The children were Filipino Japanese U.S.-born citizens. They often settled down and worked on small farms or orchards.
Pablo farmed with several Filipinos who had second-generation Japanese American wives. When President Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066 on February 19, 1942, it decreed that all Japanese in California needed to report to internment camps. There were no exceptions for Japanese women married to Filipinos.
According to Pablo, there were three Filipino men whose wives were Japanese. Their wives and children were sent to the camps while the Filipinos were permitted to remain at home working on their small farms.
In August 1942, the men started exploring options to move to Iowa with their families. The California social welfare authorities wrote to the state board of social welfare in Iowa and explained that the families would like to move there—if Iowans wanted them. There were several weeks of open discussion, with those living in Southern Iowa opposed while those in the north were more open to having the families live among them until after the war.
Ultimately, it was resolved, and the authorities authorized the Japanese wives and their children to return home without restrictions on their movements. Pablo said the Japanese were welcomed back by their farming neighbors.
In the end, Faustino and Julian wanted to ensure their field crews were happy and didn’t feel as though they were being ripped off by the other Filipino gangs who seemed to prey on these migrant farm workers.
Julian and Tomas's responsibility was to ensure that each crew member had entertainment for the weekend. In some towns, the men with Filipino wives ran the kitchen, preparing local delicacies for the homesick men.
Gregario and Shirley Montero, 9 December 1941. Because they could not marry in California, the couple went to Vancouver, Washington to marry.
Julian’s Story – Labor Contractor, Gambling, Taxi Dancers, Florida
Julian shared how some 70 Filipinos went to Florida to work because of the labor unrest in California in the early 1930s. The convoy of Filipinos departed Salinas for West Palm Beach at the end of November 1930 and arrived in December 1930. Julian shared how the American South was like California’s rural communities. They often did not have access to hotels where they could sleep overnight. They could buy gasoline and sometimes food at service stations, but the bathrooms were off-limits to the men. They could not eat in restaurants and were very suspicious of eating food prepared to go. Often, they discovered their hamburgers had feces mixed into the meat. They learned not to drink water offered in these roadside cafes.
When they arrived in Florida, they found farmers willing to rent to them so they could start farming as sharecroppers. At first, the Filipinos and whites got along until some of the men started dating white women. It reached a tipping point in January and April 1932 when the men refused to stop associating with white women at a church social. Tensions continued when a Filipino married a local white woman. In July 1932, over 180 white Floridians visited the Filipinos and told them they had until Monday to leave the area. There were rumors that an additional three hundred Filipinos would come to Florida. Eventually, 60 Filipinos left for Cuba. Six stayed until they harvested their crops in the fall. According to Julian, he and the other five returned to the Salinas Valley to report their failure to establish a long-lasting colony in Florida. He said that based on the earlier positive reports, many Filipinos had planned to move there at the end of the year, perhaps as many as 2,000 Filipinos.
Filipino labor crew from the Salinas Valley harvesting grapes near Delano, California
Alex’s Story – Philippines Mail, Box Social, Gambling, Payroll, Exeter, Watsonville
Alex became his father Faustino’s paymaster for the field crews and ensured that the bills for renting Filipino clubhouses and taxi dance halls were always paid on time. Being the company paymaster was very dangerous. One time, after withdrawing funds to pay the workers, he accepted a ride out to the River Road ranch where the crews were being housed. Alex became suspicious when they turned off the main road and told him to hand over the money he was carrying. Alex immediately jumped out of the car and started running in a zig-zag pattern as the would-be bandits fired at him. Alex reported the attempted robbery to the local authorities. The sheriff never caught the would-be robbers, but Alex said the men were never seen again in Salinas’ Chinatown.
Most of these families were once part of Faustino’s labor crews in the Salinas Valley and many married the local women and created the bridge generation or warbrides generation of children.
Front left: Alex L. Fabros, his wife Josefina and son Alex Jr., and daughter Lillian, Philippines Mail writer.
Front right trio Delfin Cruz, wife, and daughter Jeannette, Philippines Mail publisher, businessman.
Front second couple from the right Pablo Tangonan, his wife Margie, and son Conrado. Labor contractor, farmer, businessman (Filipino produce market, Market Street, Salinas, California)
(Photograph taken 1949, Salinas, California)
Alex shared how Faustino could not rent a hall in Exeter at the end of the 1929 Thompson grape harvest, which led to racial unrest. Because there was no taxi dance hall to cater to the Filipino men, they sought to intermingle with the local people on the evening of 29 October 1929.
A Filipino who felt his honor had been injured attacked Adolph Borgman and Harry Latham with a knife. A mob of over 300 men attacked the E.J. Firebaugh Ranch and set fire to the barn where the Filipino workers were living.
This became an international incident when the “California disease” of racial discrimination was reported around the world. The Philippine government demanded immediate independence for the Philippines.
In Watsonville, Filipinos sought to defuse racial tensions by establishing their own clubhouse and taxi dance hall. Andrea Antenor Cruz and the Monterey Bay Filipino Club imported white taxi dancers to work at their clubhouse. Roving bands of white thugs harassed the Filipinos, and when they asked for protection, the local sheriff and the district attorney ignored their request. This signaled to the whites that it was open season for Filipinos.
On January 22, at the Murphy Ranch located four miles east of Pajaro, several carloads of whites fired shots into the bunkhouse where Filipinos were sleeping. As soon as the first shots were fired, the Filipinos dropped to the floor or hid in closets. Fermin Tobera, 22, fell dead with a bullet through his heart.”
“The Watsonville Riot” became another international incident. Tobera came to symbolize American intolerance and the desire of Filipinos for their independence. In the Philippines, Sunday, February 2, was observed as “humiliation day” in memory of Tobera. When his body arrived in Manila, it was accorded a state funeral.
The shocked authorities quickly took steps to bring the situation under control. A 6:00 p.m. curfew was imposed, and deputies patrolled the streets of both Pajaro and Watsonville to prevent further anti-Filipino demonstrations. By the end of February, the roads were safe for Filipinos again. However, as in August, when white workers armed with clubs chased them through the streets, things remained tense.
Delfin took control of the Philippines Mail after the original publisher used the paper to cover a poker hand betting on an inside straight. Delfin expanded the paper to six pages, filling the extra pages with advertisements from stores that did business with Filipinos. Alex found an angle: the entire community supported queen candidates by purchasing subscriptions to the Philippines Mail. The profits were shared with the queen candidates. This became so popular that it became a yearly event, and many Filipino families entered their daughters in these annual queen contests.
Alex eventually became one of the leaders of the Filipino communities in California. His columns in the Philippines Mail shared bits of gossip, stories on issues facing the Filipino community, and editorials he and Delfin wrote urging Filipinos to move forward and create communities in the United States instead of returning to the Philippines.
Faustino Departs
The 1935 Tydings-McDuffie Act included a provision to repatriate Filipinos to the Philippines at government expense. Filipinos returning to the Philippines under The Filipino Repatriation Act of 1935 could only return if they immigrated as one of 50 Filipinos allowed into the U.S. annually.
By 1938, Faustino decided to return to the Philippines to spend time with his daughter Pascuala and her family. Faustino chose to pay his way back to the Philippines so he could always return to the U.S. The Filipino Repatriation Act of 1935 provided free transportation for Filipino residents of the continental United States who wished to return to the Philippines but could not afford to do so. It was a one-way transportation for single adults. The California Emergency Relief Association paid passage for Filipino children born in the United States so they could return to the Philippines with their parents.
Faustino returned to Tarlac with over $10,000 in savings. He would remarry and have two daughters and a son. He passed away in 1956, surrounded by his new family. Over the years, as I sat with the manongs on many porches in the farming communities of California, they shared many stories of how Faustino and his friends had survived at the height of racial tensions in California.
The United States Supreme Court ruled in 1940 that the law was unconstitutional and only 2,190 Filipinos returned to the Philippines. The Nationality Act of 1940 replaced the Repatriation Act of 1935.
In the group of manongs, Alex was the only one to return to the Philippines as a result of his service with the 1st and 2nd Filipino Infantry Regiments in World War II. He landed with the first wave at Tacloban, Leyte, with the 7th Philippines Civil Affairs Unit (PCAU). His PCAU participated in the liberation of Luzon and then into the Cagayan Valley, where he and the Filipinos in his unit met their wives, most of whom were under the age of 18. Their war brides eventually returned to the United States with their husbands, and this started the war bride generation of children.
Looking back almost 60 years, I’ve realized that the manongs shared their stories with me hoping I would someday be their storyteller.
Alex Jr.’s Story
After I entered the U.S. Marine Corps in 1965, I never again lived for extended periods with the manongs. In the 1960s, Alfonso married my grandmother (my mother’s mother) and bought a house in Salinas, California. Over time, they converted the home into an eight-bedroom retirement home for many of their former workers. When I came to visit at Christmas, New Year, Easter, or another special occasion, we would sit on the back porch after dinner, and the men broke out their marijuana pipes and poured freshly made moonshine. Like in the old days on the farm, they shared personal stories of living in America. It wasn’t until the early 1980s that I started to videotape them.
Alex Sandoval Fabros, Jr. 1952, at his Lolo Alfonso Castillo’s labor camp near Soledad, California
Faustino, Alfonso, Delfin, Tomas, Julian, and Alex Sr. did a pretty good job of creating a strong community among the bachelor manongs who, in turn, helped families with children in getting them to colleges to become successful in life.
Looking back almost 60 years, I’ve realized that the manongs shared their stories with me hoping I would someday be their storyteller. It wasn’t until 1992, when I met Professor Dan Gonzales, Department of Asian American Studies, SFSU, that I recalled the many stories the manongs had shared. I began researching the kernels of truth that lay within their stories. Eventually, by 2003 the stories I shared with you had all been validated.
I hope I’ve been able to meet their expectations.
Alex Sandoval Fabros, Jr. is a third-generation Filipino American, a 100% combat-disabled retired U.S. Army officer, and a former university professor of Filipino American History and Global War and Terrorism. In 1965, while working as a migrant farm worker, he participated in four Filipino-led farm labor strikes, including the Delano Grape Strike.
More articles from Alex Fabros, Jr.
