….last evening I didn’t even make an entry. Being 7:30 PM when I walked in I had had enough and I’m afraid it is going to more of the same tonight. So, here’s something extra for my amusements this story not to far from the whole truth.
Seeing Doc the other day I must have looked as worried as I was for Doc asked if anything was troubling me. This on and on going memory loss problem getting worse everyday, it’s beginning to get to me so I wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t had a problem. Dumb question, I thought.
So I told him, "Well, to tell you the truth, Doc, I seem to be getting more and more forgetful. I can't remember where I have left Ugly, or whether I paid a bill, or where I'm going, my going to my tool box, what wrench did I want when I got there, what I was going to do with it once I got back -- if I get there! I need help. What should I do?"
My wise ache-er Doctor replied in his straightest face, "Pay me in advance!"
My left wing contribution for the day………….
Roosevelt’s new deal didn’t work. Bull-shit!
An older gentleman I picked up with a few years after my dad had died becoming my union work mate, as well as hunting and fishing buddy, he’d had worked the CCC camps in northern Michigan. The CCC’s planted 1000’s upon 1000’s acres of trees, cut forest highways and trails, built roadside stops, camp grounds. This required logging and building picnic tables and out houses. It was that experience that had prompted him to became a journeyman carpenter. He remembered it was required to send half his pay home. It was that CCC money sent home that families bought hard goods* putting factory people back to work which helped rebuild the 1930’s economy.
Frieda’s telling me this morning her father worked the WPA heavy construction for money. The money paid for his booze while she and the rest her family were deprived their needs. Their living in the country, at that stressful time, the neighbors gave her mother fruits and vegetables; milk, butter, and eggs; chicken, beef and pork at slaughter time, and hand me down clothing made from feed and floor sacks.
Government financed work programs trickled money down to a lot of money reestablishing pride and contribution to neighborhoods, in all manner and sized communities.
My old man made his move in 1939, building and moving himself, mom and I into a tar paper shack. Happy days were on there way again our never dreaming of war across two oceans.