My mother, who was a child throughout the Depression, nevertheless constantly reminds me how her family ate "lung stew" most nights for dinner because they could afford nothing else. Perhaps this accounts for how disgusting my mother's cooking was throughout my middle class childhood.
@depardoo: My grandmother came from a dustbowl farm during the depression. And despite becoming affluent later in life, she wouldn't give up a commitment to offal, from a childhood eating "the whole animal, head to hoof." She only served calve's brain to me once.
@BadUncle: Ditto. My grandparents, who hailed from farms in the Midwest and Oklahoma, always had a jar of pickled pig's feet in the fridge at all times, long after it wasn't necessary. Grandma learned to love this "delicacy." My grandfather would chew gristle and enjoy it. I always watched that with such fascination.
They ate beef heart, liver, chicken heart, sweetbreads and every manner of appalling forms of protein.
But, these people could bake a pie. They would work as a team, he doing the crust and she doing the filling. Their pies were, still to this day, the best I have ever had.
Yes, and all of the commenters in the Newsweek article were children during the depression. I bet their parents had a very different opinion of the times.
@meechybee: I asked my nana what it was like growing up during the depression and she said "We didn't know anything about that. We were playing." I mean, it makes sense.
@meechybee: I'm sure you are quite right it wasn't as hard on the kids because it was the only thing they knew.
My father grew up during the depression, one of five children deserted by their father. A lot of men deserted families out of shame for not being able to provide for them. His mother re-married and added four more to the brood. Although she died when I was about 10, I still remember Grandma Wagoner as a woman devoid of affection or joy.
The kids, my aunts and uncles, were always really funny. My dad's nickname was Skip. He got it because of the way he walked after a cutting his foot on a piece of glass. See, his shoe had a hole in it and they couldn't afford a doctor so he hobbled around a lot until it healed. As depressing as this story of poverty is, he continued to go by the name Skip for the rest of his life. The story always got laughs whenever it was re-told at family gatherings.
The other depression story that always left a mark on me was from an aunt who explained that poverty taught tolerance. It didn't matter who was what (race, religion, etc.) because everybody was poor. Nobody got to be better than anybody else.
Jesus, I think that rant is a sign of early on-set Alzheimers. Shit.
@meechybee: Yes, my father grew up in the depression, too. He tells stories of "borrowing" row boats to run booze from Jersey City to NYC, scavenging scrap metal and copper to sell, and running number from the candy shop (which was running illegal gambling in the back room). One of the highlights of his childhood was when the Maxwell House coffee warehouse caught on fire. They gathered up as many floating cans of coffee as possible and sold them the next day. A real "Our Gang" childhood.
Meanwhile, his mom was an immigrant with no family in the states and raising six kids on her own after being abandoned by her alcoholic husband. She worked two jobs scrubbing floors to make ends meet. In addition, their apartment was a cold water flat (literally) with an outhouse in the backyard (remember, this is a Jersey City walk-up, still there). All of their healthcare came from charities and the goodness of strangers.
It seems like my being told that the recession is over is related in some inverse fashion to the fading prospects of healthcare reform. Not that I mind being spun.
And who can forget all the exciting, creative ways people learned how to cook? Mock Apple Pie! Isn't this recipe great? We can eat sweetened crackers and pretend we used real apples! YAY!
Don't forget the eponymic cutlery given away free at movie theatres which allowed countless poors to retire to the Hamptons when they became antique. Don't forget Depression Glass.
The 'Sham-Wow' guy (Vince?) could sell me practically anything. He is mesmerizing and looks like he'd be great in the sack. Now that's the key to successful advertising.
07/30/09
07/30/09
07/30/09
They ate beef heart, liver, chicken heart, sweetbreads and every manner of appalling forms of protein.
But, these people could bake a pie. They would work as a team, he doing the crust and she doing the filling. Their pies were, still to this day, the best I have ever had.
07/30/09
Human beings as a group try to make the best of shit. That's not new news.
07/30/09
07/30/09
07/30/09
My father grew up during the depression, one of five children deserted by their father. A lot of men deserted families out of shame for not being able to provide for them. His mother re-married and added four more to the brood. Although she died when I was about 10, I still remember Grandma Wagoner as a woman devoid of affection or joy.
The kids, my aunts and uncles, were always really funny. My dad's nickname was Skip. He got it because of the way he walked after a cutting his foot on a piece of glass. See, his shoe had a hole in it and they couldn't afford a doctor so he hobbled around a lot until it healed. As depressing as this story of poverty is, he continued to go by the name Skip for the rest of his life. The story always got laughs whenever it was re-told at family gatherings.
The other depression story that always left a mark on me was from an aunt who explained that poverty taught tolerance. It didn't matter who was what (race, religion, etc.) because everybody was poor. Nobody got to be better than anybody else.
Jesus, I think that rant is a sign of early on-set Alzheimers. Shit.
07/30/09
Meanwhile, his mom was an immigrant with no family in the states and raising six kids on her own after being abandoned by her alcoholic husband. She worked two jobs scrubbing floors to make ends meet. In addition, their apartment was a cold water flat (literally) with an outhouse in the backyard (remember, this is a Jersey City walk-up, still there). All of their healthcare came from charities and the goodness of strangers.
07/30/09
07/30/09
07/30/09
07/30/09
07/30/09
05/29/09
BULLSHIT BULLSHIT BULLSHIT A THOUSAND TIMES BULLSHIT.
05/29/09
12/29/08
12/29/08
12/29/08
He is mesmerizing and looks like he'd be great in the sack.
Now that's the key to successful advertising.
12/29/08
I'm just sayin'.
12/29/08