Most of my peers had grandparents who went through the Great Depression, I had parents. While everyone always thought they were my grandparents they had actually waited way late in life to get married, my father was 46 and my mother 39, unheard of back then. And they had both faced adversity even before the 30s, though my father came from a more privileged background with his sister in Kansas City my mother had eleven siblings growing up in rural Oklahoma. There's so much talk about our present economic situation and I don't pretend to have any answers but it is interesting to reflect on my childhood that was impacted by their experiences during another difficult time.
What stands out the most was the word thrift. My father worked for the US Post Office in the lowest paying job, not because he had to but because he wanted to—that's where his friends were. For thirty years he went to a job that didn't pay well and that he hated. My mother kept houses before she met my father, quite a come down in both prestige and paycheck from her time as being a part of the wartime Rosey the Riveters. Dad would go through his paycheck like it was water before he met mom, mother scrimped and saved and built and paid for, in cash, our first house on Ann Avenue and would continue to invest in real estate—we never rented, we always owned.
Thrift. When the tube of toothpaste ran out, it really never ran out until my mother had taken the scissors, cut along one side, unrolled the bottom, opened it up and laid it flat to get the very last drop. That went for anything in a tube. Soup cans were opened and nothing was left inside, every last bit was spooned out, then rinsed out and the liquid used in the soup—no waste. Every time you left a room the light would be turned off, the only light you used was the light you needed, which could be a reading lamp or in the case of when her son went out with friends, the porch light was left on—there wasn't any scrimping on security.
There were no paper towels, only cloth hand towels which would be mended and patched until they literally fell apart. My shoes would automatically get rubber taps on both the toes and heels to prevent as much wear as possible; she would take preventive measures with my jeans—iron-on patches inside the new pair, or patches on the outside, a pair of jeans would have to be threadbare to be thrown out, and then they might end up on a quilt or in one of the rag rugs she made from scratch. There was no shopping at Macy's only thrift stores or Sears. Mostly she shopped for herself at the Salvation Army store from when I was a kid til her death; she prided herself that she never spent more than a couple of dollars for a pair of boots, much less in the 50s. I once asked her what it was like during the 30s, she said that her secret was peanut butter and beans, not together but as a source of protein. She could survive on peanut butter and crackers. Even as a kid there weren't any meals out, the only one I can remember is going for sliders at White Castle. Mom was always a great cook, her only son wasn't much of an eater though. What I left on my plate, she ate, there were no scraps left over.
Laundry was never sent out, dry cleaning was a luxury. Clothes were self-tailored by her deft hands. Sheets were starched to keep them cleaner longer so you didn't have to use more soap and water. Painting was done by hand, never contracted but having a new roof was essential, no money spared there. Nor when it came to buying the best mattress—mom's was custom-made—or quality furnishings. Though when we made the move to Albuquerque to heal her son's asthma, it was all sold because the cost of moving was too great. While it took almost ten years to get the house refurnished, it didn't stop her from buying a upright piano for her son's piano lessons—which lasted all of two months. That was only one example of waste, and not hers.
She didn't spend, she saved. She kept a close eye on her expenses and saved up enough to get a $10,000 CD and then would start saving for the next one. She saved for the present and the future, the doctor bills for her sickly child, the doctor and hospital bills she knew would eventually come. She prepared for the worst and as a result was rarely surprised. She saved for what she considered the essentials: food and shelter. And she would tithe every Sunday, God was another essential. We never had a car until I turned 17, we took public transportation or walked. My parents bought me two cars, a used Ford Falcon and two years later when I headed off to college my mother bought me a brand new Nash Rambler (and she insisted that all the seats had plastic seat covers—my mother was practical but not stylish ) because she wanted me to have a car that wouldn't need any major repair bills. I'd have preferred the Ford.
My mother always hoped to pass down her thriftiness, well it skipped a generation, my son is her legacy. I'm sure mom is looking down with a helpless look at how much her son has wasted, how little thrift there is, how little he's saved. But every time I open a soup can, all the contents get scrapped out of the can and the liquid goes into the soup. At least I can do the little things. Now I must go take care of that tube of toothpaste—where are those scissors?
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