Eggs and Bread
by
Sam Loschiavo
It was the height, or more correctly, the depth of the Great Depression of the1930's. I was just a youngster but recollections of the Depression were burned into my mind never to be forgotten. I remember how dark it was in mid-afternoon as prairie soil blotted out the sun, drifted over fence posts and telephone poles, and even into houses despite closed windows. I can still almost feel the clouds of grasshoppers in migrations that lasted for hours as they swarmed by like an avenging army destroying everything in their path - crops, vegetable gardens, grasses, and even the dry bark on fence posts. They used to cluster on the handles of the pitchforks and shovels. I learned years later that they were licking the salt from the sweat of farmers' hands that had dried on the handles. The dust in the air brings to mind the words of the imaginary Sarah, sweet songstress of Saskatchewan and heroine in Paul Hiebert's book, "Sarah Binks", published in 1946, in which she sings her Song to the Four Seasons:
Spring is here, the breezes blowing
Four inches of topsoil going, going ...Many people were on relief, as welfare was called in those days. Families were issued coupons for clothing and shoes at local stores, not designer stuff, but practical clothes and boots selected for strength and durability rather than appearance. I had an uncle who had coupons for cordwood with which many of the houses were heated. Although he should have received a cord, he got only half a cord. Others on relief got the same treatment. It was common knowledge that the other half that should have been issued to those on relief was sold by a clique of town administrators. There was little point in complaining. To whom would you complain? How could you prove your case? If you did complain, the authorities could make your life even more miserable than it was. So people kept their mouths shut and followed the precept, "Grin and bear it". The milk of human kindness soured quickly in the heat of the Depression.
A phenomenon of the Depression years was the hundreds of thousands of young men who rode inside and on top of railway boxcars back and forth between Halifax and Vancouver seeking work. Wherever the trains stopped to take on coal or water, some of the men would attempt to jump off. The town police and railway police would stop them and say, "OK boys, get back on the train. There's no work here for you" They were afraid that the men would remain and apply for relief, thereby depleting the town's resources. Many of them congregated at the edge bridges, along river banks, or in and around abandoned warehouses. In these hobo camps or hobo jungles, as they were called by their more fortunate human beings, the young men pooled whatever food they had and cooked and ate together. Cans of different sizes served as their cookware and china. They socialized by sharing stories of their travel experiences. Many were homesick.
The term, hobo, is of unknown origin, but may have stemmed from the vagrant greeting of "Hey, bo". it was grossly unfair to brand them as vagrants, unskilled migratory workers, tramps or idlers. Many of them were well-educated, intelligent. industrious people who were eager to work. They were the result of a political and economic system that permitted obscenities like the Depression to happen.
I vividly remember the visit of one of these young men to our home. As were about to begin our evening meal, there was a knock at our back door. My mother went to the door. A lad of about 18 years of age asked her if he could have a dime. Then Mom asked him, 'Why do you want a dime?"
"To buy eggs and bread," he replied.
At this point, my father who had heard the conversation, asked Mom to invite him in for supper. He accepted and came in, removed his cap, washed his hands and sat at the table. It was fortunate that he came to our place because Mom believed in generous helpings when it: came to food. He ate and ate and ate. It was amazing how much food that young man was able to put away. He spoke very little, but was very polite.
After supper Mom gave him a bagful of sandwiches, cake and fruit to take away with him. She also gave him a dime. I noticed that her eyes were watery. He thanked us and left, Mom watched him walk across the street and into the grocery store at the corner. The next day, Mom went to the store and asked Mrs. Nedokis, the owner, "Mrs. Nedokis, do you remember the young man who came in here last night?"
"Yes," she replied. "He had a dime."
"What did he buy?" asked my mother.
"Eggs and bread."