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Depression stories worth repeating
(by Barbara Christian - November 05, 2008)
WINDOW ON MAIN STREET, BY BARBARA CHRISTIAN
Depression stories worth repeating
As kids, there was nothing that could make our eyes roll back in our heads more readily than when one of our parents would begin a dinner-table conversation with, "During the Depression, we ..."
To us, the Great Depression was a threat rather than anything real.
"During the Depression, we would have given anything to have the food you leave on your plates," Mom would say. "Now clean up those green beans."
"During the Depression, we didn't have new shoes every year," Dad would add. "We did with what we had. Put cardboard inside our shoes if we got holes in the soles."
"During the Depression, we were happy to get hand-me-downs." And so it went.
It was said my grandmother could cook a good and filling meal for a crowd with a half pound of ground meat and some imagination. The stories were plentiful, if the food and a new pair of shoes were not.
But our parents always ended up laughing over the memories. How bad could it have been, we wondered. Everyone pulled together. The Depression sounded fun.
"We were all in the same boat," my mother would say.
In those dark times, the rule was that only one person per household could work, so others would have jobs. It was a rule few observed. People did what they had to do to survive and provide for their families.
My parents shared an apartment with my grandmother and aunt. My grandmother owned two businesses, a small grocery and tailor shop. My aunt, a teacher, was paid in scrip, which was payable in goods and services. My mother had a secretarial job in a bank, and my dad sold paperback books on the road to drugstores up and down the Eastern Seaboard.
"We all worked and still couldn't get enough together to pay the rent," I remember my mother saying.
Sharing was something that generation did not think twice about. That included the hoboes looking for work and a meal. My mom always found something for these men whenever one of them would knock on our back door. No one called the police on these homeless men, who were in our boat too.
It was only later that we came to realize what life-changing lessons those times and priding poverty had taught our parents. Their sacrifices were as real as their hunger for a second helping and new shoes.
Now, my siblings and I feel guilty about greeting each "during the Depression" story with a look that said, "Oh, no, here we go again."
Living through hard times was nothing new to our parents. They came from immigrants whose lives were always a struggle. These were our parents, and they were stronger than we gave them credit for being.
So now, some of the smartest people in the room are saying we may be heading into another depression.
We wonder if our generation will have the resourcefulness and grace our parents demonstrated? Will we be faced with wearing cardboard in our shoes? Will we buy cheaper cuts of meat? Will we drive our cars longer than we want to?
If there is a sequel to the Great Depression, how will we handle it?
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