“Do you know the Rusinko’s that live on Penn Ave.?”
“I’ve heard of them, but I don’t know many people who live across the tracks. You know that’s a separate borough over there, and they keep to themselves and we keep to ourselves; of course, since they don’t have a post-office, they get their mail through ours. Most of the people who live over there are sorta common. And most of them have more kids than they can provide for. Do you have a family?”
“I have two daughters, but they’re grown up. My baby is 26 and married a man (name of Jake Lance), while he was in the service. When he got out, he went to work as a machinist in the Altoona Shops, but he was sorta restless and didn’t think he was making enough money, so he re-enlisted. He was at Fort Braggs, North Carolina or one of those Camps for awhile, and then they shipped him overseas to England. Well, Mary, that’s my daughter, saved her money and bought a new trunk and everything and was going to join him in England. The day she was supposed to leave, she got word he had been shipped to Germany; so she doesn’t know whether she’ll be able to go to Germany, or not. I was kinda relieved she didn’t go to England because the ship was supposed to land at Plymouth and her husband was in Liverpool. So I don’t know what the fare would have been from Plymouth to Liverpool, maybe she wouldn’t have had enough money. There she’d have been with a thirteen month old baby in a foreign country and no one to look after her. Maybe it’s a good thing Jake did re-enlist, the way they were laying men off at the car shop. I know a man who has years of service there and was laid off last week. A fellow just isn’t sure of his job these days. It certainly does look as if we’re going to have another depression: but you don’t remember the last depression do you?”
“I sure do. I was just a kid at the time, about ten years old. My dad was out of a job and there were 13 mouths to feed besides my father and mother. We had the biggest family in town, besides Mike Reddo’s – there were 18 in that family. I don’t know how they managed to live. I know we lived on rhubarb, blackberries and homemade bread when mom had money to get flour, which wasn’t very often. I still remember once my mom made biscuits and because of the lack of the proper ingredients, they got a little hard. Well, my sister, Cora, who is a nurse, was home visiting and she said she’s a nurse and knows a person can’t eat biscuits like those and live; however, we’re all still living, and all healthy. My youngest brother, Joe, was always so thin till he was about 16 years old; everyone used to say that the depression hit him. He grew like a weed then – now he’s 6 feet tall and weighs 185 lbs, the best fullback Cresson High School ever had. He’s the one who became a sergeant in the Army – the one I was telling you about. Now he’s going to Penn State under the G.I. Bill. He’s majoring in Phys. Ed and plays fullback on the football team. – a smart kid. Did any of your family go to college?”
“No, I don’t believe in sending girls to college. They just graduate and get married anyway, and never use anything they learn in college, so why wast the money and time. I only went through eight grades, and I’ve learned ten times as much since I’ve been out of school then I did in the whole eight grades. I had to quit at the time, but I never regretted it since, like I said, I’ve learned more out of school then I ever did in school. Take my sister, Cora. Cresson High School wasn’t good enough for her; she had to go to Altoona Catholic High, and then she went to Nursing School., She still says ‘ain’t’ when everyone knows it’s aren’t. Not that she isn’t a good nurse, but you’d sure think they’d learn how to talk. I’ve more or less picked up good English from listening to other people talk. I think a person learns more by listening than by doing all the talking herself.”
“You’re certainly different than the women I know. The other night I wanted to go to the movies and when it was about time to go, Millie Burns came over “for a little chat” as she put it. Well, my wife and her just discussed everything from their girlhoods to the present economic situation - nothing of which meant anything. By the time they finished, I was snoring in a chair in the living room, having read three old “Readers Digests” and two Mercury’s. and even a Ladies Home Journal for lack of something to do. About 8:30 my wife came in off the front porch, and calmly remarked she was too tired to go to the movies and besides Millie had seen the show the night before and it isn’t any good. A couple times, while they were talking, I thought of going myself, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with my wife for the next couple of weeks if I did, so I changed my mind. What a boring ...
“Oh, here’s where I get off.” exclaimed the house-wife as she pulled the cord which activated the buzzer, letting the bus driver know someone wanted off. “I’m very glad I met you.”
“Same here.”
The railroader stepped out into the isle and the housewife squeezed by him, strutted up the aisle, and reached the door just as the bus stopped at the corner and the door swung open. The young woman stepped down on the sidewalk of the busy shopping district of Altoona and was soon lost in the crowd.
While on the bus, the railroader had already moved to another seat beside a middle-aged graying woman. “Could you tell me what time we get to the bus station?” he inquired.
The Boy From The Wrong Side Of The Tracks
Sankertown is where I live. It actually should be part of Cresson, but we don’t want anything to do with those Republicans from Cresson. They say we’re from the wrong side of the tracks – I wouldn’t live in Cresson for anything. In Sankertown, everyone works in the coal mines or on the railroad; that is, except old Pete Moroney who runs the grocer store, and Abie Cohan, who owns the Popular Store. There are a few others too.
Our house is just a big barn, my sister Martha says. She hates to scrub the kitchen floor, because it’s so big; she calls it “the Acre”. She says it’s hard to get clean, because it has no linoleum, and gets so dirty from coal that’s tracked up from the cellar. I wish we had a gas stove, so I wouldn’t have to lug that coal bucket up the cellar steps. That old stove sure does keep me warm in the morning while I’m dressing for school though. Pop says the house will be warmer after he gets the shingles on; he only has enough for the North side. He says next year maybe work on the railroad will pick up and we’ll get the rest. Well, at least we have enough coal now; it isn’t like it was during the Depression when Joe and I had to go coal “Picking” along the tracks. If Jake Miller hadn’t thrown off that coal for us every night, I don’t know what we’d have done. In Depression, I guess a guy’s lucky just to get enough to eat; I hope I never have to eat blackberries on hard biscuits again. I missed our Sunday roast most of all. It was fun stealing milk out of Conrad’s back porch refrigerator though. Joe said it was okay since they had plenty and we had none. When I’d tell it in Confession, the priest always asked me to give it back. I always said I would, but most of the time we had already drunk it out in the back alley.
I didn’t like going to Mass with those “relief” clothes on – everyone knows “relief” clothes when they see them. One Sunday Father Brady caught me punching Jack Sheriden on the arm and made me kneel in the middle aisle all during nine o’clock Mass. All those “big shots” from Cresson stared at the hole in the sole of my “high tops” and the patch on the seat of my corduroys. Well, Sister Mary said that God doesn’t notice how you’re dressed in church. I got a new pair of black shiny oxfords for Christmas that year. I had my choice between shoes and a shirt. I opted for the shoes; since I figured my sweater would cover my worn shirt sleeves.
Wow! the turkey we had one Christmas! -- twenty-three pounds. Uncle Harry gave it to us, since we helped him dig his potatoes. He kept telling me, “Come next December 25; you’ll be gnawing on that bird’s drum stick.” I didn’t eat all I wanted, since I knew mom wanted it to last all week. Mom is good to us kids; the little money she has goes to feed and clothes for us. She never gets anything for herself or goes anywhere that costs money. She still talks about the only movie she’d ever seen, “Flying Down to Rio”, that Aunt Helen took her to a couple years ago. When I grow