Maxine's Story
The Depression Years
What can a small child know about economic conditions in her world---my needs were being met, my wants were simple---and I didn't know anyone who had it any different! This began to change of course as I grew older. But it is in looking back, comparing the present with the past, studying the history, and in reading about the depression, especially John Steinbecks "Grapes of Wrath", that gives me a clear picture of the situation we found ourselves in throughout the 1930s. We were poor---really poor---if money is the criteria---and we weren't alone!
Now as part of the older generation we feel we must keep the memory alive---not that we could forget, but that our children must somehow know and understand what it was like! And take heed that just maybe it could happen again!
There were of course those who had secure jobs and worked right through the depression---mostly those who had education. The teachers, the government workers, doctors, lawyers---the "high mucky mucks" my Dad would call them. We didn't know or associate with any of these of course.
Our friends and neighbors were in exactly the same boat as we were, struggling to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. (We had in fact, one friend who had dirt floors, in kind of a makeshift trailer home-shack combination. They were what we would call homeless today, but we didn't think in those terms then, you put together what ever scraps you could scrape up, wrapped them in tar paper, and called it home!)
We paid no insurance---(not even Social Security)---neither health or life---though since we didn't go to doctors nor dentists, I suppose it didn't occur to my parents that we should. In fact, I'm not sure that those were even an option in the 1930s. We paid no taxes. What few dollars were earned went into food, shelter, and fuel for homes. Clothing was simple and mostly hand made. It was make it over or make it do---hand it down or mend and patch it. My Dad had a shoe "last" and repaired all our shoes. (like everyone else's Dad did). If the soles wore out you got new soles. One pair of shoes---two or three pair of handmade bloomers, and those made from flour sacks. As I grew older the flour mill company began using a print for their sacking and we were so tickled to get pretty fabric to sew. One coat---two or three cotton dresses. (There were no pants for girls.)
It wasn't that my Dad didn't have work---mostly he did. He had worked in Detroit for one of the car makers before he married. Then in Bisbee he learned to be a miner. After their move to Paul, Idaho, he worked in a cheese factory. Then the move to Oregon where we spent five years in Ontario, he worked at least some of the time on PWA jobs and various odd jobs, doing unskilled labor. Those are the times that I remember---my grade school years!
Then came the winter when Dad didn't have a job of any kind---and my Mother, who like most of her generation, had never worked outside her home, was able to find work in a cannery. What I remember about that was an unhappy father and my Mother depressed over what she called "the Christmas gift”. It was Christmas Eve---the company called all employees to a meeting and there told them that production was not satisfactory---they had to work harder!
It is easy to recall the despair in our home at that time. I'd like to describe that home, but before I do that I should mention the trailer home we lived in first. In Nyssa we somehow came to own that trailer house (nothing more than a box on wheels---not my imagination, we have pictures) ... We moved it to Ontario and lived in it you several years. We must have outgrown it because Dad then found a piece of property that was literally on the wrong side of the tracks----tried to buy it and in the mix-up with the city, ended up just going ahead with his plan to build, and never did pay for the land. We lived there for about 4 years---and when the time came to move on---that is just what we did---move on.
That house wasn't much different from any of those others we had lived in. Two rooms, neither large---simple frame construction, called bat and board---covered with tar paper. A tar-paper shack!
I don't believe we ever lived in a house that was painted---or one that had a bathroom---with two exceptions. The Eagle Point house and also the Lakeview house had bathrooms. And it seems to me there was also hot water, not electric but from the wood stove. Certainly in Ontario there was an outside toilet, with Sears or what we called "Monkey Wards" catalogs. We surely couldn't afford toilet tissue.
It was the bedrooms---or lack of---that bothered me the most. We never had a house that didn't have a bed in that should have been the living room. In Ontario, we all six slept in the bedroom in 2 beds, with some kind of a cot for Fred, though I can't recall just where it was. We three girls shared a bed right through high school. There was no privacy---ever---the only thing you could call your own was one dresser drawer.
Our water source was a pump in the yard. There were no indoor faucets nor any sinks or basins either. We brought water inside in a bucket---and used a dipper to get a drink---(and shared that dipper with anyone else who wanted a drink).
Baths were taken on Saturday night---in a round galvanized tub---in water that had been used by several others. I was probably the only school child who ever loved to take a shower in gym---and if there was a roomful of girls watching, I didn't care! It was clean hot water and I showered as often as I could find a way. I knew a lot of girls who hated those public baths---but not me!
Our kitchen held a wood stove (in every house we lived in) and an old table and maybe two or three chairs---but mostly we sat on powder boxes. Those boxes were built strong to hold dynamite. After Dad began to work at dam building---or road construction---he would bring them home. They were needed for various reasons. When we moved they became packing boxes---they made cupboard when stacked---were used for storage, and they served as chairs. I have one to this day---just about the only remembrance that I have from my youth, though I must say, it doesn't give me much pleasure to see it---only a reminder of harsh, harsh times.
We just didn't have the furniture that we now take for granted---though in Gresham I believe that we did have an old couch. We did have a radio, but no refrigerator until after the war, when I went to work for Sears. The government no longer had to have military equipment, and once again appliances began to appear in our stores. My job made it possible to buy the refrigerator much sooner than we could have otherwise.
There are scenes that I can clearly recall that would describe the conditions and the despair.
We were some miles from home, though I have no idea why---and the old car we were driving broke down. Dad eventually saw a bus coming (Greyhound? I'm not sure), and he stood in the road and brought it to a stop. He tried to explain to the driver that he wanted only to get his family home---and while that man was vigorously saying "NO-NO-NO", I can't do that", Dad pushed us onto that bus and we were taken back to Ontario, while he stayed until he could fix the car---returning the next day.
He came home one day with the news of a truck load of chickens turned over and chickens running loose everywhere. We were quickly on the scene and I can remember chasing those chickens all over town---successfully too! We raised a few chickens of our own one year. They were supposedly mine, probably to insure that I took care of them, but the plan was to produce eggs. I went out to the coop one morning and found only chicken heads! Someone had wrung every neck. That was the end of our attempt to raise chickens in Ontario.
We had a dog at that time, named Jimmy. We got him in Nyssa apparently (or if before, I don't remember). When we moved to Ontario my parents abandoned him! After several weeks he came to us! A distance of about 14 miles. They accepted him completely after that, though of course there was no money to buy dog food. I never knew anyone who bought dog food. Dogs just lived on whatever scraps might be left that no one else wanted. In other words, not much of anything and surely not a well balance diet. As a result, they would occasionally have "fits". We would watch the poor dog go into those spasms and eventually, if they didn't die, they would be all right for a time. We thought that was normal dog behavior. We never saw a doctor, and would never dream of taking a dog to one!
Jimmy was with us on one outing we took---to a hot springs out in the desert, on a hot summer day. When he saw the pool of water he jumped in---it was water hot almost to the boiling point! We had a pitiful dog for weeks---his hair fell out and he laid under the trailer and wouldn't eat, but eventually recovered.
We kids knew how to salvage anything worthwhile. Especially metal! We would go to the dump, which was the best place, or to a wrecked car junkyard. Or any deserted house or property and find scraps of copper, junk, iron, aluminum. Even a coffee can full would bring us ten or fifteen cents---and that was all the spending money we got. Little did we know that the metals we were selling were being shipped to Japan, where they were being made into armaments---shells and bombs---and would eventually were used against our country. When I first learned that bit of information, I felt quite guilty. I was an avid metal collector!
I remember the day that Fred was climbing on the cupboard, knocked the oil can off---(the one with the long slender spout), then jumped down, stepping on it That spout went right through his foot and was pushing against the skin at the top of his foot. That terrible injury was treated by soaking the foot in hot water and Epsom salts. How he survived I do not know. Even surgery in those days, was likely to end in infection and death. NO penicillin!
There were no lawns in my childhood---possible exception was the summer in Lakeview---but I'm quite sure that we didn't mow that one. We never owned a lawn mower, and we lived next door to the landlord---In that arid country we had dirt yards with weeds. There were vegetable gardens in Ontario, but since they had to be hand spaded, they were small.
Dad had one experience in growing a decorative plant. I can't recall what sparked that interest---or where the seed came from, but do remember him talking about the wonders of the castor plant. (my dictionary calls it the castor-oil plant). He did have seed and did plant one successfully, right by the door to the house. It grew quickly and soon was a large beautiful plant, with a single bud right at the top, ready to bloom. He was more than anxiously awaiting for the great day of the opening, when to our door came a school teacher. She was there to discuss the situation with Deloris---(they had discovered her near blindness). That teacher stood at the door--surely she wasn't asked in---and idly reached over and snapped of that bud off the plant and shredded it into bits! Dad never got over it---nor did he attempt to grow another. In my adult years I've learned that the castor plant is poisonous, (especially the flower), and not something that should be planted around children. Maybe that teacher did us a favor!
We had almost no sickness that I can remember. The single exception being the winter that Deloris had pneumonia. I believe she may have even seen a doctor. We had little or no religion in our home, but at one point she was so near death that Mother made us all kneel down and she prayed for Deloris' life. She was months recuperating---there are several pictures taken during that time that show the effects of that illness. She was very thin before, but after that winter she was just a skeleton covered with skin. Her legs show no muscle at all, just bones.
I always ate with great enthusiasm. My Mother never gave up trying to get Deloris to eat more. Finally she tried trading my plate for hers, as we prepared to eat! But Deloris couldn't manage my large servings and I was hungry with her small ones. It didn't work!
What did we eat? Mostly beans! Since Mother was a good cook, she seasoned them well---or made chili, but there was one year when that didn't help me. I had a teacher who objected to students who ate anything with garlic---so Mother had to cook my beans separately, with no garlic! I learned to sprinkle sugar and vinegar over mine---plain old beans are pretty poor fare.
We ate lots of fried potatoes---Nothing like the well balanced diet that we are now accustomed to. We had no knowledge of tossed green salad. I learned how to do those watching Spencer Tracy in a movie---( along with most American women I suspect), in the 1950s. We did have wilted lettuce when the gardens produced the leaf lettuce. Later on, Mother would mix cut up lettuce with chopped tomatoes, onion, hard boiled eggs and mayonnaise. I suspect that David remembers that salad---it is really very good!
The only time that we had fruit was at Christmas---or on Thanksgiving. She made a fruit salad that was so delicious that I can clearly remember the thrill of eating it. Just cut up oranges, bananas, and pineapple, with whipped cream. And maybe a little apple. What a treat it was! There were the local seasonal fruits of course---and we had those occasionally, especially the melons. Ontario was a good place to raise melons. Also, in the ditch-banks of that country, you could find asparagus growing wild! We had lots of that in season. We ate lots of stubble-ducks too. I learned later on just what those were---illegal pheasants!
Probably the low point in our struggle to survive those years was an experience that I've never forgotten but never told either. I felt that it would be an embarrassment to both my Dad and Mother. I was deeply disturbed by it then---as I am today. Yet it does say something about my Mother's determination. She would go to any length to feed her family. We were eating a tasty hash one evening, and I suppose it was my Dad who questioned the meat. She finally admitted where it came from. She had gone to an alley, found a garbage can behind a restaurant, dug out the meat (steak) scraps that had been scraped off peoples plates---scalded them off (she insisted) and used them. I can remember my Dads disapproval---whether that was repeated, I don't know. But I don't doubt that she would do it again---and again, if she was desperate enough!
It wasn't that we had no money at all. We were never on welfare---and took some pride in that! Though it did occur to me that those on welfare had a lot of good things to eat that we did not. Like oranges---or fresh meat---or butter. We used margarine, and in those days it came uncolored (white). The color capsule came separate, and you had to mix it in yourself. And in those days we didn't have the handy plastic bags to do it in either. The dairy industry had control of the margarine business.
It was not uncommon to see kids at school with their lunch in a lard bucket (which most of us used), containing cold baking powder biscuits, spread with lard. Period. I never had to resort to that. We always had bread and usually had baloney. Our bread was mostly home made. We began every dinner by buttering a slice of bread, and very likely had a second one.
While we never received welfare from our government, there was at least one attempt to offer assistance, by a woman from a more well-to-do part of town. She brought boxes of groceries to our neighbor---and offered help to my Mother---who refused. We were living in the trailer house at that time. I would have been in the second grade. The reason that I remember the incident, was because of the sausage that she pressed upon us, convincing my Mother that she had bought too much for her needs. When Mother opened the package, she discovered spoiled meat! She was completely disgusted, and the little link sausages were thrown away---leaving a very bad taste for do-gooders with my family!
There was money of course for tobacco. My Dad was a heavy smoker. He rolled his own, but later on bought a little machine that rolled cigarettes---and I learned to make them, and enjoyed doing so. After he had steady work in road construction he began buying regular cigarettes and smoked two or three packs a day. This made a very convenient gift to buy for Christmas or birthdays ... I bought lots of cartons, and he was always happy to receive them. Sometime in the 1950s he began having difficulty with chest pain. He quit tobacco cold turkey! He never said anything to Mother---nor did he have any assistance from any product. He simply stopped and never turned back. It was several days before Mother realized what was happening. She was thrilled, and never got over his strong will. He did admit to us years later, how difficult that habit was to break, and how the urge to reach in his pocket for a cigarette after a meal never really left him---but he was indeed strong!
This narration wouldn't be complete without telling something of Deloris' life---and death. She was my parents second child. Born on September 29, 1929, in Paul Idaho. At what age it became clear that Deloris had health problems, I do not know. She looked plump and healthy at 6 months or so when there was a photograph made. But she turned into a very thin child with little appetite and subject to illness. (Nearly dying from pneumonia as I have written.) She was considered clumsy, always bumping into things. Yet it was not until third or fourth grade that she was diagnosed with a severe vision problem. The state sent her to Doernbecher Hospital in Portland for two weeks. We lived in Ontario, on the other side of the State, and she went, on the train, without a family member, though there may have been a social worker with her, I do not know. My parents never visited Doernbecher, nor did they accompany her to Salem when she was admitted to the school for the blind. There may have been one visit to that school later on, when we were traveling. I remember being there, on the grounds. But for several years she traveled back and forth to Salem by herself, on the train. She was fitted with glasses at Doernbecher---and for the first time could see things that she had never seen---like birds in the trees---or leaves---and she was excited about that! Much later, when she was an adult they developed even stronger and better lenses---hers looked like the bottom of a coke bottle and she hated them. But her sight was again improved. Even later, she attempted to get contact lenses, one of the first to try them really. They just didn't work on her, though she had a very knowledgeable doctor, one who taught at Forest Grove Optometry school on that subject.
She was a dedicated book-worm. She read constantly, all her life. She rested her chin upon her book, to see. The diagnosis had been dislocated lens and she was strongly encouraged to lead a quiet lifestyle, no bumps or jolts. I on the other hand, was a tom-boy, and had more interest in whatever was going on outside---could play rough and tumble with the boys. We had little in common, and didn't enjoy each others company. She had long bony fingers and hands, and I hated it when she hit me (though I undoubtedly asked for it). I can remember complaining that it felt like being hit with a board.
During the war, the State began cutting back at the blind school, and those who could attend regular schools, were sent home. She was in high school by then, and came home to stay. It was felt that she should save her eyes and needed a reader for her homework. I was the hired reader. It never worked very well. She was bored with my reading and finally resorted to reading on her own, while I droned away on the homework. Finally I quit in disgust and everybody was happier---and the State never bothered us again. She was a good student, never of course, going out for any sports, or activities of any kind that I can recall. We still had little common interest, and I suppose that I ignored her and she endured me. After graduation she found a job and an apartment, downtown. There was a time that Iris lived with her. Then she decided to move to Salt Lake City, Utah. Needed a break form home and family, she said. How long was she there? A few months? Our cousin Melba lived there, and I think she liked it, though she was not a member of the Church. Finally she chose to move back to Portland, saying she missed the family.
I had David and Barbara by then and she adored her niece and nephew---and we had the friendship as adults that we had never had as children. As I've looked back at our relationship from the beginning, it would be easy to blame our parents. There were incidents that were indeed thoughtless, and unfair. My parents weren't perfect---and it was much later, when I could realize my own inadequacies in parenting, that I could begin to understand and forgive.
Deloris came back to her family, but with the determination to be independent. She got a job with an insurance agency, and another apartment. She lived in the general area of Good Samaritan Hospital in north Portland, about 21st Ave. She occasionally spent a weekend with us---and we encouraged her to come. She so enjoyed David and Barbara and openly spoiled them. I used to say that every child should have a "maiden Auntie” who could just dote on them---and she did that!
On Christmas day, 1955, she was here for dinner. By then she had finally found an appetite, and was in fact, battling a few extra pounds, and high blood pressure. She used to grumble about being forced to eat more that she wanted, and now it was adding on weight that she didn't want! Non-the-less, I loaded her up with Christmas goodies, and we compared our bulging waist lines, and my parents took her to their home, since Christmas was on Sunday that year and Monday was a holiday.
My parents had no telephone. (The first time I ever spoke on a phone was when I went to work for Sears and I didn't know which end to speak into!) It was Monday afternoon when from a neighbor of theirs we learned that Deloris was ill---very ill---and that we (Iris and I) should come home. We arrived as soon as we could, to the news that she was indeed gone---dead---. She had awakened that morning, December 26, with a terrible pain in her chest. Dad and Mother took her to a doctor finally, who said that it was probably gall stones, gave her a sedative and sent her home. She had such pain---and was disoriented (couldn't find the bathroom), but finally fell asleep and Mother thought she was resting. After several hours, she heard Deloris making strange sounds, and realized that it was her last gurgling breath. She died in Mothers arms.
We were in shock---such pain---I cry as I write this, some 46 years later. She was 26 years old. Yet it seemed like she had just started to live. She had a sad and lonely childhood---even her pictures look to me like she was never truly happy. But she loved her adult life! Was making friends---though she never dated. She once said that she didn't like the boys who would date her, and the ones she did like, wouldn't! She had a great love of classical music ---and theater---and saw to it that I went to the special programs of various kinds.
She was never diagnosed Mar Fans syndrome, but we believe that was indeed what she had. She had all the classic symptoms. The long bony body, and the dislocated lens. The death from an aneurysm of the aorta at an early age. We discovered this many years later. It was a rare and little known disease throughout her lifetime.
She is buried in Forest Lawn Cemetery, in Gresham. A single grave, rarely even visited anymore. Her death was one of the reasons that we went looking for religion in our lives---to seek solace or understanding of what this life means. Hers had ended too soon. We found The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and what we were looking for. And have the assurance that Deloris will one day be a part of our family again---when all will be understood and we will be united as sisters in bonds that can't be broken.
Back to the "depression" years: I can't leave the story with only the GRIM details! There were many happy times, and we did some extraordinary things!
Mother took her four kids back to visit the grandparents in Idaho at least twice. Once in the car, and once on the train. The car ride became eventful when we broke down in the little town of Hamet, Idaho. The part we needed had to come in on Greyhound bus, and we had to stay overnight, and the only place in that little one horse town was an OLD hotel---and so we did. It was quite an adventure!
It was the train trip that I most enjoyed, especially the new outfit that I got---pants, my first pair that I can remember, and it was a two piece pants suit! Very new and unusual for a girl to be wearing pants! I can still see it, though not in color. All our pictures of those days are in black and white, as are all the movies, and I tend to think of them without color.
I received a Shirley Temple doll for Christmas---I loved that doll, and played with her and left her outside in the weather and ruined her--- nothing lasted very long with our casual lifestyle and with no room to keep anything anyway.
I had a birthday party! It was my tenth year and Mother made the party fun with games and everything. I received a purse and have the picture to prove it. It was taken on the cellar door. It was a challenge to my Mother in those years to find a background for picture taking. There were no pretty places in the yard of course, and she refused to take them with the toilet in the background. That didn't leave a lot of choices (every yard had a toilet).
My friend Frieda Mullins and I used to play dress up with the most glamorous outfits that we could put together (from the Goodwill stores of our day, whatever they were called), We would pretend to be movie stars, and I always chose to be Loretta Young .... she would be Claudette Colbert, who we called Cloppy Clover because that is what my baby sister called her ... (Dad love her). Which is exactly what my Mother always said whenever she mentioned Iris---and I now say "He does"!
Probably the camping trips were the most fun---We camped for recreation and to save money on motels, which were called "tourist camps". Also on job hunting trips. We usually found a cold stream that gave us kids a place to wade and play, and for Dad to catch dinner. We all ate trout---and I suppose Mother kept cans of something or another if he didn't happen to catch anything. And always fried potatoes.
We saw a lot of Oregon that way. The best trip was the one that took us clear to the coast. (I do think that Dad was looking for work at that time---though he had been working and had saved a little money. 1 remember it as being $400. He never used a bank of course, and was proud that he could save a little in spite of the hard times.) We began by going to a relative.
Mother had an Uncle, Ellis Owens, who with his wife Eva, lived in Grants Pass. Uncle Ellis was Gma Sabin's brother. A dear sweet mild mannered man, and one who became very dear to our family. They had no children---and made us welcome when we arrived at their home. After a wonderful few days there, we drove on down to the California redwoods, and then on to Crescent City, and the Pacific ocean. What a thrill that was for all of us! There are pictures of us, playing in the surf, though I don't need a picture to remind me of that day!
We wound our way north on highway 101, and arrived in Portland eventually. We stayed in a motel, downtown, out on Sandy Blvd. I believe. I say the place after we moved here, but have forgotten the name and there have been many changes long since.
The highlight of the Portland stay was the Janzen Beach amusement park! My Dad, reader that he was, always knew about the interesting places to visit, wherever we were, and he knew about Janzen Beach! I loved the Ferris wheel and the carrousel, but nearly came to disaster on the roller coaster! Dad was with me---can't remember who else, but I was sitting by my Dad and when that thing took off and made the first long drop, I panicked and tried to get out. I don't think that they had the safety devices then that we have now. I remember trying to stand up and Dad holding me down! I was about 12 years old (and not too smart).
We visited the parks downtown. In fact we kids spent some time there while our parents wither shopped, or went to see about jobs, or both. I remember seeing a lot of old men in the one park, but wasn't afraid at all. The statuary was new to me and very interesting.
We may have had hamburgers along the way, or hot dogs, can't remember. But the first restaurant that I do remember was later on, the day we moved to Lakeview. After that long hard day, we washed up and went out to a restaurant for dinner. I was thirteen years old, and had to be told how to order. If you chose the meat that you liked, the cook would just know what else went on the plate! I was most impressed! Mostly when we traveled we bought bread and baloney, and made sandwiches. We visited the fruit stands along the way and enjoyed the seasonal pick of whatever crops we came across. Also, on that coastal visit, we quickly learned about crabs and the wonders of fresh seafood. Maybe Dad didn't enjoy this quite so much, but Mother and I did .... Much later if our lives, my siblings used to complain to my Mother that she cooked for "Maxine", and she admitted that she did! I made such a fuss over food that I liked, she tended to choose my favorites just to get my reaction!
It was when we went on the road (for road construction) that we got our first and only bicycle. Dad found a used one for $10, and we were thrilled! We all shared that bike and it served us well.
Our last move, before Dad gave up road construction, was to Lakeview and we were there for only a summer. But Lakeview had something that we had never had before---sidewalks! We all got roller skates, and skated together as a family. They were the kind that fit over your shoes and had a key to tighten them on---but we thought them grand fun. We never heard of a roller rink, though there may have been some, somewhere. Not where we lived, nor were there any public swimming pools. None of us swam.
I shouldn't leave the road construction years without a mention of the kind of work that Dad did. He was the powder man---as well as operator of road graders and other heavy equipment. He dynamited the holes that the rock came from to go into the "crusher", to make gravel for the roads.
The summer that we spent in Burns was an experience! Our home was nearly on the job site! What a dilemma that was when the dynamiting was going on. Dad would warn us and we would go stand up against the small rock building. (We considered it a pump house, or well house, though I'm not sure that it had water. It was always cool in there.) It was probably the only solid safe place on the property---surely not the old house that we were living in. The rocks would come flying all over and actually tumble down the roof of our 'shelter'. That was great fun and I felt quite safe---as long as I was plastered against that rock wall---on the correct side!
Dad also taught us about dynamite---and blasting caps---which were the most dangerous. He wanted us to recognize a blasting cap should we ever encounter one---and to know how to handle them. Satisfied our curiosity. I can still visualize those little green-gold caps---though in my whole lifetime I have never seen another one!
It was the kind of 'teaching moment' that parents today use for guns. In my childhood guns were taken for granted. Everyone had them and we knew enough to leave them alone. There was an incident in our family that became a real teaching moment! Grandma Johns had a hand-gun---she kept it in plain sight, in her bedroom, and loaded. We were warned to never touch it of course, and I never did. Can't speak for my siblings!
One day someone came along, never knew who it was, and while the ladies were visiting, the young boy of the family, went exploring, found the gun and put a hole in the ceiling! After that the gun was kept out of sight---and Gma had little to say about it!
Gma Johns' house had some other peculiarities. She had a bathroom---which we thought was wonderful, except that she didn't really like us to use it! And she did NOT want paper put in the toilet! She kept a bucket for that purpose---it grossed me out--to use current terms, but since I've been to Mexico recently, I've discovered that dilemma again!
Gma had an outdoor toilet, which she used. But she had a habit that amused and embarrassed me---goodness knows what her neighbors thought! She would come out of her toilet pulling up her bloomers, and pulling down her skirts. Since she wore several layers she would be almost to the house before she got everything rearranged! Hmmmmmmmmm
This chapter has grown far beyond my intentions---but I keep thinking of the various aspects of life as we knew it and want to describe it fully---even if no one is interested. I wish I could consult with Fred and Iris on a lot of this ... and I could, via e-mail for Iris, and telephone for Fred, but tend to just give my viewpoint from my memory. I do hope that my brother and sister get busy and do this story from their own memories!
How did we do laundry? I didn't, of course. That was women's work, and work it was! Pump the water, put it in a double boiler on the wood stove---even in the hot summer time---dip it out into a large round galvanized tub, soak and scrub on a washboard---then another tub filled with rinse water, wring out (again) by hand, put the whites (our sheets and dish towels werewhite), in boiling lye water, again in the double boiler. Which by the way, was an oblong kettle that fit over 2 wood stove burners, and was also used for canning. Everything rinsed and bleached, and starched if needed, wrung out and hung on a line outside to dry, even in the winter. If the clothes froze they would still dry. Then you brought them in and sprinkled down all the ironing pieces, rolled them tightly, put them into a basket, covered with a towel, and then on Tuesday you ironed them. (You always washed on Monday and ironed on Tuesday). You had to heat up the old 'sad irons' on the wood stove. I don't know where that name came from but it is appropriate! The temperature had to be just right, or they would scorch! I was allowed to iron only the handkerchiefs---(we had no Kleenex in those days.) It was a happy day when we got an electric iron, though I can't remember exactly when that was. But I can easily see why one wouldn't want to own too many clothes! Or change them too often!
We didn't have detergents either. Our soap was just that---soap. And Mother made most of that herself---using lye and lard, or bacon drippings. I tried it once after I was married, and found it to be a poor cleaning agent and bad smelling. No one welcomed detergents with more joy than I did! But that was in 1950s.
My Dad didn't like Henry Ford's cars! Neither the model T's nor the model A's. He managed to buy very big and heavy kinds .... There Fred could probably help me, I can't remember what kinds they were, only that later on he became a very enthusiastic Studebaker owner. But those heavy old cars used to make Mother grumpy. They wouldn't start much of the time, and had to be pushed. And they were too heavy for us! She longed for a model T---or A!
There was another problem with those old cars. They weren't safe from the odorless gas (carbon monoxide?) that the leaded gas of that day produced. I can remember being awakened and made to sit up, if I was in the back seat. They kept an eye on us to be sure that we were alert and not being gassed! We pulled a trailer when we moved. I don't remember much about that trailer, but do remember the chickens! Mother kept a few hens, again hoping for eggs. They were put into a box, with their legs tied together to keep them from escaping. Then the box was tied to the front of the car. (Those old cars had nice big running boards and bumpers.) Mother used to say that we moved so often that when those chickens saw that box, they crossed their legs!
I had one worrisome experience on one of those moves. Have no idea where we were---just a mountain road somewhere in Oregon. We had a rest stop I guess----anyway I was the only one who didn't want to 'take a walk'. So I was alone, standing, looking around, close to the car and trailer. After a while Dad came back and just as he walked up, that car started to move downhill---He jumped in and applied the brake and it stopped. I stood there and observed that---I may have been 10 or 11 years old---and I can clearly remember saying, "What if you hadn't come back right then?" and he said "Well, then you would have got in and stepped on the brake." But I knew that I wouldn't have---I didn't know where that brake was! I really believe that we had a Guardian Angel that day! But then that wasn't the only time. Our poor kitty didn't! We were on one long ride through the hot desert, when we had another 'rest stop'. We all got out and our darling new kitty was allowed to exercise a bit. It was many miles down the road before we realized that NO ONE had brought Kitty back to the car! Mother tried to tell us that some nice people would surely find him---but I knew that poor kitty was a goner! And no, there was no possibility of our Dad turning that car around and going back, none!
We made a lot of stops for tire repair in those days. Our tires had innertubes, and they blew out---often. We carried patching kits and repaired most problems ourselves. It was hard when it was hot. We welcomed those lone grocery/gas stores that we came upon occasionally. We would drink cold---really cold---bottled pop and eat penny-candy and replenish our bread and baloney. Never dreaming of a miracle called AIR CONDITIONING!
Mother was a candy maker----and considering the facts---she never had either recipes or proper equipment (like thermometer), she was cooking on a wood stove with unreliable temperatures, yet sometimes at least, she had great success. (I can recall eating divinity with a spoon). Taffy was probably the first and most successful of her efforts. I learned how to pull taffy either alone or with a partner. And that skill has been shared with a goodly number of people in my lifetime!
For recreation my parents played pinochle. In those Ontario years, the neighbors would come over and I would watch carefully as they played and just figured out the game without having to be taught. It seems like I've always known how. That (skill) has served me well over the years also, since I married a man who loved the game, and I have many happy memories of evenings spent with friends is friendly competition---never any gambling, or disputes---just inexpensive entertainment---as certainly it was during those depression years. I think that most everyone we knew played pinochle. There were other games---Parcheesi---rook---old maid---and of course the most fun---jacks! Though I don't remember my parents playing jacks. All kids did!
We survived the great depression---and somehow didn't understand how bad it really was until much later. But it has colored our lives---WWII brought about the beginning of the prosperous years. We've made the money and bought the goods until we hardly know our needs from our wants! But lurking in the back of our minds, is the fear that it could happen again---And the need to not only stay out of debt but also to save for that rainy day! And to live within our means!
So our dear families, when you see us turn out the lights when we leave a room, clean our plates and use up our leftovers, drive our old cars, keep our old furnishings, (and clothes), bottle our fruit---agonize over waste---make our own, or go without---have patience with us! And pray that neither you nor your families will ever have to experience basic needs that you are unable to provide for.
But oh, do stay out of debt---just in case!
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