Black Thursday

By the end of 1929, America was in the worse possible shape it had ever been in and by that time the stock market had already lost over thirty billion dollars. The unemployment rate rose to twenty-five percent, and among them, was my mother. My grandfather had to close down Rudy’s because business was non-existent. No one seemed to have the time to stop there to eat anymore, being stressed out with the economy and all, which meant that the money stopped coming in. My father began teaching Robby how to farm, because he thought it was necessary that he be taught how to do things around the farm and ultimately it would help the family. I started helping my mother around the house, doing all of the chores that needed to be done. My parents even taught us how to manage bills and things of the sort so that we knew how to do them ourselves when we got older. Basically, our parents became our teachers, and they taught us all the skills that it took to survive.

So we grew our own food to get by and did all that we could. We milked cows, harnessed horses, gathered eggs, and hung our own clothes out to dry. Being so young, I don’t think that I fully understood what was all going on at that time. I knew that we were struggling, but my parents never talked about our struggles in front of us, and they never fought in front of us either. They knew that we very little of the troubles that rose during The Great Depression. They didn’t feel the need to add on to all of the stress. All I knew was that we were struggling and we had to work, work, and work. Robby and I began to see less and less of our childhood every single day.

And just when we thought that are finances couldn’t get any worse; my mother was pregnant and as my little sibling began growing bigger and bigger, I could see the adamant worry and frustration in my mother’s eyes. She always reminded us that it’s wasn’t that she didn’t want our unborn brother or sister, but money was tight. How were they supposed to raise a little baby in a situation like that? They had enough trouble caring Robby and I through the mess. She just wasn’t sure if she could raise another baby.

On April 9th, 1930, my baby brother, Henry, was born. He was a very lively and playful little boy, much like his older brother. I remember when he was just a little baby; my brother would tug him along in his cowboy games and even made a small cowboy hat out of paper and old pieces of cardboard. But sadly, Henry began to get sick. Real sick. My mother noticed it first; the paleness of his face and the redness of his eyes. Henry would cry painfully throughout the night and I would bury my face into my pillow, placing my hands over my ears. I didn’t want to hear his morbid screaming. It was eerie for little nine-year-old me. As the months followed, he just kept getting worse and worse and sadly, on a cold December day, he passed. My little brother Henry passed away from an unknown disease at the young age of just eight months. My mother blamed herself for what happened and wished that she could take back what she said about not wanting him.

It’s hard to believe how long ago it all was, but it still seems so real and evident even now as I write this. The Great Depression was such a huge part of my life, and I feel like if I hadn’t gone through all of that, I would not be the same person that I am today. Years after The Great Depression, it occurred to me that my mother had saved up all of the money that she could from her job at Rudy’s so that my brother and I could have a great education. And all of that time during The Great Depression, she didn’t spend a nickel of it. All of that money could have helped our family tremendously during hard times, but she didn’t, and I love her for that. I love her for being there for my brothers and me in the best ways that she could; my father too. Maybe one day in the near future, I’ll open up Rudy’s again, just for her. Just to see all of the life again in that small café and just to say,

“Thanks mama.”.