fortunate enough to be born into the “Great Depression” to a family starting from scratch in “Fish-town”—a poor area of Philadelphia, PA. Today such a start is considered a major handicap; but then, the values and beliefs of all the adults there, were those that made possible the “Greatest Generation.”
George L. Andersen
This is the author
Lo o k i ng UP at th e G r e at D e p re s s i o n
The author, George L. Andersen, was
Funny Things Happen on the Way to Decorum
George L. Andersen
About the Author george l. andersen was fortunate enough to be born into the “Great Depression” to a family starting from scratch in “Fish-town;” a poor area of Philadelphia, PA. Today such a start is considered a major handicap; but then, the values and beliefs of all the adults there, were those that made possible the “Greatest Generation.” He graduated from Frankford High School and then served two years in the U.S. Navy. He got his B.S. in math at Widener University an M.A. (and a Mrs.) at Haverford College. He was a Registered Professional Engineer in Michigan, Ohio and Pennsylvania and has over a dozen U.S. patents. He was best known in the field of precision cold-forming where extreme pressures caused materials like steel to “flow” at room temperatures. This was one of the many techniques that allowed the last doubling of industrial production with only a 30% increase in energy consumed. He has given technical papers at national and international conventions, and written articles for magazines such as “Iron Age” and “Steel,” and sections for technical society’s handbooks. Over the years his titles have included: Industrial Engineer, Research Engineer, Director of R & D, Director of Corporate Engineering, Corporate Technical Director and, strangely, even a stint as Financial Analyst (based on the math degree). In addition to his career, he has worked with many non-profit groups including: A.F.S.C. (American Friend’s Service Committee), C.O.B.E.C.C. (Central Ohio Bio—Medical Engineering Community Council), Monadnock Music, New Hampshire Woodworkers, Wilton Main Street program, etc. He is concerned that the loss of many of the values of the past will hurt society—even with the best intensions. Take “Pride” for example. In the old days, we learned that it was good to do things of which we could be proud. To qualify the act should be difficult, constructive and done well! Now kids are told to be proud of Being, period. Years ago that was called “false pride” and considered a sin. We were more right back then. Have you ever wondered why something almost rare is called “Common Sense?” He hopes that this book can be read by many of our youth to give them some new insight into the old fogies!
L-R: George, Roy, and Charles Andersen. Sitting in the back is dad Lorang Andersen.
Looking Up at the Great Depression Funny Things Happen on the Way to Decorum
by George L. Andersen 2015 E d it ion
ELDERBERRY PRESS, INC. OAKLAND
Copyright ©2015 by George L. Andersen All rights reserved. No part of this publication, except for brief excerpts for purpose of review, may be reproduced, stored or in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without written permission of the publisher. ELDERBERRY PRESS, INC. 1393 Old Homestead Drive, Second Floor Oakland, Oregon 97462-9506 Email: editor@elderberrypress.com Tel/Fax: 541.459.6043 www.elderberrypress.com Elderberry books are available from your favorite bookseller in both print and e-book formats. Publisher’s Catalog–in–Publication Data Looking Up at the Great Depression: Funny Things Happen on the Way to Decorum ISBN: 978-1-934956-63-2 [Soft Cover] 1. Memoir. 2. The Great Depression. 3. Immigration to America. 4. The Greatest Generation. 5. History. I. Title Cover design by Terri K. Sheets This book was written, designed, printed and bound in the United States of America.
This book is dedicated to the memory of my parents Lorang and Florence Andersen. They were perfect parents for less-than-perfect and highly-rambunctious kids.
C ontent s The Depression without Depression . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 Accentuate the Positive . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 How to End a Depression . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17 Moving . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 The Farm . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29 Becoming Influential . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 35 Peer Pressure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 The Wrong of “Rights� . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 Really Wrong Rights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .54 Responsibilities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 Property . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 Thrifty is Nifty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66 Pride . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71 Fundamentals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74 Integrity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81 Fleetwing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 The New Math . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 Earning and Learning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
Intentions and Reality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99 Silence is Golden . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102 Bullies and Victims . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 Trick or Treat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109 Semantics . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114 Winning and Losing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118 Doing It Right . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121 Victory Garden . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124 Assumptions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130 Recycling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133 Medicine . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135 Lawsy Lawsy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .139 Safety First . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142 Liability . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 144 The Boss . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148 Problem Solving . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 154 What I Learned . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 156 Appendix A . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158
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The Depression without Depression Most of my early years were spent in just the kind of community that causes the most concern today. Kensington, known as “Fish-Town” was and is a section of Philadelphia with small row houses and heavy industry. The Frankford Elevated (called the “El”) ran down the main street, which was lined with small stores and businesses. The houses were all known as “shotgun” style row homes, most twelve feet wide and forty or so long, with two stories. The nearest tree to our house was three blocks away. We kids were happy there and I remember the place fondly. We were a lucky family then because my father didn’t lose his job until the middle of the Great Depression. We kids didn’t think it was a depression then, but I was reminded of that fact at my Father’s funeral in the 1960’s. Some of his friends were recalling the old days and asked, “George, do you remember the Friday night parties at your house on Hancock Street?” Of course I did! Many of my parent’s friends came and we had sandwiches. My favorite was hard crust rye with spiced beef! They further asked, “Did you know that for many of us, that was the best meal of the week; and that those suppers were your parent’s way of sharing?” No; that I hadn’t known! So many people living in such places today seem depressed. Perhaps I would be too. We might better understand what is wrong today if we could know what was right in those “Good Old Days.” 1
Looking Up at the Great Depression
A lot of what was right in our neighborhood; was that my parents and others like them lived there. My father was a recent immigrant who came to America with all of fifteen dollars, and my mother was born in the city to immigrant parents. At least half of the families there were of the same background. Diversity reigned. There were about 30% Italian, 30% Polish, 30% Irish, 10% Scandinavian and 20% other. The 120% shows just how crowded it was. The only thing we all had in common was a low income. There were at least six1 languages on our block. As a result of this exposure, to this day, I have less trouble than most understanding strongly accented English. What I don’t understand is the tendency of many Americans to think that “broken English” is a sign of ignorance or lack of education. Obviously, this is a person that is fluent in one or more other languages, and has some knowledge of English as well. Americans are in many ways the world’s most generous, but in this regard we often miss the boat. Most of the adults then had long-term goals; that is, they expected that real success might take more than one generation. They accepted starting near the bottom, and knew that hard work would be required to advance. Even in a time of uncertainty, all of them thought that their children would be able to do better, and many measured the success of their lives by the opportunities that their work might create for them. I don’t remember any resentment in these regards though, possibly, some existed. Thus, there was a great diversity in background; but nearly unanimity in life objectives! Education was enthusiastically supported. All the parents encouraged us to “work hard in school,” as the key to “getting ahead.” We 1 English, Polish, Italian, German, Irish and Norwegian.
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were told that in America everyone had opportunity, and that the only thing that could prevent success was ourselves. Money was not the only measure of such success. My maternal grandfather was often cited as a role model. He came to this country with a grammar school education and speaking little of the language. He became a master toolmaker and engineer with a high-tech company making world-class testing equipment. Though he never made a great deal of money, he gave generously in time and money to the church. He and “Grandma” always lived in the same smallish row house and never bothered with such luxuries as a car. He died at 88, and his funeral was attended by hundreds of friends and admirers. He was the wisest person I ever knew, and a real success in this world. This was the “Great Depression” and Fish Town was an inexpensive place to live. Nationally, unemployment was 24%, and there was not much of a social safety net. Our area of poorer homes in the middle of a large city was at least as badly off. If poverty and unemployment truly breed crime, it would have been all around us then—but it wasn’t. While unemployment was high, so was industriousness. The neighborhood was spotless. Almost every day, each sidewalk and front steps were cleaned by the occupants. Philadelphia (and Baltimore) row homes were known for their immaculate marble steps. Trash in the street would disappear in minutes, and contributors were chastised. Though more than half of the homes were rented, none was unkempt. We were taught that we should always respect the property of others—even a landlord’s. There were no front lawns in our block, but many families had flower boxes. The tiny (10 x 12 feet or so) back yards had a wide variety of plantings even though the sun was blocked most of the day by the close proximity of houses on both sides. The sparseness of grass meant that 3
Looking Up at the Great Depression
we kids had many places to play mumblety-peg without adult objection. Thus our physical surroundings were spare, but wholesome. Slums are not a collection of poor people and cheap housing. Slums are a crisis of spirit. A strong sense of community existed, and this was to a large extent based on the common high regard for neatness and cleanliness and acceptance of the responsibility to maintain it. It has been a major mistake to make street sweeping a government function. We are so easily diverted from merit by the thought that “it’s not my job!” An example illustrating this occurred a few years back when we visited my mother who was still living in the old neighborhood. I went to the hardware store for something needed at her house. The sidewalks and street were a mess. I thought that the store owner looked familiar; and sure enough he had been at the same high school, a year behind me. I complained of the unkempt look of the neighborhood, and he agreed that it had gone downhill. His explanation was that the city seldom came to sweep, and many people were litterers. I’m afraid that I was less polite than I should have been, and said, “My mother still lives here so I want this area to look like it used to. The only real reason it doesn’t is that you and the other merchants don’t take ten minutes each day to simply sweep the area in front of your stores!” We discussed the situation some, but I’m not sure that I made any headway, as it was always someone else’s fault. My favorite TV shows are those showing some inner city block that has won an award for best gardens or clean-up—whatever. The common denominator is that someone or ones said, “I’ll do it!” The smiles, the crowds, the obvious pride and sense of community bring back happy memories of my childhood. 4
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Some of those memories involve “Block Parties.” Those affairs were held for some local, charitable fundraising. Often churches were sponsors. First, the police would block off a street for one residential block, and then people would appear with community props to set up the various activities. I don’t know where they were stored when not in use, but it had to be a pretty large space. There were platforms and booths and banners and long strings of colored lights that were strung back and forth over the street. In no time at all, the street looked like a circus midway. The booths were for games and for the sale of a multitude of items. This always included water ice,2 hot dogs, and donated baked goods. Much like a small carnival, you paid to play the various games and got small prizes for winning. Usually there were one or two booths where true gambling occurred. That is, you paid to play; and collected cash if you won. The largest area, in the center of activity, was for music and dancing, and was where the gamboling occurred. Philadelphia had about a million inhabitants then, and about a half million musical groups. Choruses abounded and there were many string bands, some brass bands, jazz bands, and innumerable accordionists. So, there was never a problem arranging for music to fit an occasion. I mentioned already that diversity reigned. All Block Party Bands spoke Polka for example. Most also spoke Waltz, Schottische, Hora and the inevitable Mexican Hat Dance. In an ostensibly poor area, block parties were able to raise both funds and the feeling of community. All of this came from local effort and support. I have always had my own interpretation of the biblical miracles. The Block Party is in the tradition of the “Loaves and Fishes” event. Feeding thousands with very little is no trick for a God that can create universes, and therefore no miracle. But miracle there was. Furthermore, we can 2 A block of ice was shaved to produce a ball shape. This was placed in a paper cup and laced with your choice of flavored syrups.
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perform such miracles today. The miracle is the transcendence of circumstance by spirit. What do I think happened? There were thousands gathered on the hillside. They had gone into the country for the day to relax, or for a change of pace, or to hear the new Teacher. Many had brought food, many not. The disciples had their lunch of a few loaves and fishes, for example. Jesus suggested that the meal be shared, starting with their own, and the disciples began the distribution. Some gratefully accepted, others realized that they had more than enough and donated some of theirs. The spirit of sharing spread faster than the disciples could walk with their baskets. Perhaps some had less food than they might have been able to consume, but the sense of fulfillment was adequate, for all knew that they had shared in something special. At present, we seem to have lost the sense of food as ritual, and I think that that is a shame. Food is now so taken for granted that “breaking bread together” has lost much of its social meaning. Most families of my youth said grace before at least some meals. Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter for sure. Our family and most others also for any formal Sunday meal. It served as a reminder of our many blessings in life and the appropriateness of being grateful. In our family, we also followed the Norwegian custom of expressing gratitude for the human effort that supplied the food. After every meal, we said, “Tak vor Matten,” as we left the table. Isn’t it strange that the more we have, the less grateful we seem to be?
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Accentuate the Positive Despite the economic problems of the time, positivism was always stressed to us. My father was unyielding on the subject. He insisted that anything that could be conceived could be achieved. This created a problem for my brothers and me, as we could never say that something was impossible for us. One day, when losing such an argument with him, I resorted to the ultimate weapon. I whined, “You can’t move the Empire State Building!” Boy!—I had him there! He said nothing, but he was not pleased. A few days later (research takes time), he arrived with a book. In it was an article on an engineering project in New York. It seems that they had moved the 15 story Flat Iron Building. There were pictures as well as text; so the proof was clear; and as he correctly pointed out, the same method with more or larger equipment could move the Empire State Building too. That was an early lesson for my later engineering career. Horatio Alger was a popular author then. Good (and poor) guy gets problem—good guy sees opportunity—good guy gets going—good guy gets the goods! His books may be too dated to be appropriate today, but the message certainly is. We wouldn’t even need fiction for a new series. Horatio Alger never dreamed of a success to match Sam Walton or Bill Gates, for example. Despite the popular drivel (excuse me, belief) that all that counts is who you know; there are tens of thousands of success stories that started in places like Kensington and the Lower East Side; and believe me, we didn’t know nobody! 7
Looking Up at the Great Depression
Whatever was the source of “Protestant” in the Protestant Work Ethic? While our family was Methodist, my early memories are from a very Roman Catholic neighborhood where the work ethic was universally supported. Further, it is obvious that every viable society must have such an ethic. Since we all must eat and have clothes and shelter too, some work must be done. As infants and in extreme age, we cannot work effectively. Therefore, even the simplest society must require that when we are able, we produce more than we consume. In every case, it is unethical to refuse this responsibility. As societies become more complex, we chose to create other activities beyond mere necessity, and thus require additional effort. Included are medicine, the arts, religion and so on,—even politicians. Obviously not all are of equal merit, but aren’t they all necessary and/or desirable? One of the many advantages of social systems is that we can create sub-systems such as industry and agriculture, where our efficiency is such as to allow prodigious outputs of goods and services. This productivity supports those additional services and graces that adorn our lives. But, regardless of our potential productivity, it will always be ethical to work; and therefore unethical not to, as best we can. What some mean by emphasizing Protestant, is that we Protestants are seen as such dour folk, that we seem to claim that work should be the center of our lives, and that we don’t stop to smell the roses. All right! maybe Calvin was a sour puss, but that doesn’t mean that all the rest of us are, or that everything that he believed was wrong. It has been my experience that work provides the greatest enjoyment in life. Of course play and relaxation are necessary and enjoyable, but if your work is meaningful, and if you do it well, the feeling of satisfaction you will have cannot be matched any other way. Even play itself is better when work is involved, for the better we are at such activities, the more we enjoy 8
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them. As children, we enjoy splashing around in the water, but that can’t compare to the feeling one has when first swimming across the lake. An associated lesson was “don’t expect something for nothing.” A favorite expression then, and still heard is “when my ship comes in.” Day dreams have their place, but my mother always said, “Oh, when did you send it out?” Hustle was respected in those old times, and the word didn’t have its current negative meaning. Industriousness was valued in the young, so most such efforts by the children were supported by the adults. After all, “Idle time is the Devil’s workshop.” As a result, even though there was little discretionary income anywhere, it was easy as a child to earn money. The earliest business I remember being in was Pest Control. Japanese beetles were a problem, especially on rose bushes. I don’t remember just how the negotiating went, but I collected a penny for filling a small jar with beetles. There was some water in the jar, and the beetles drowned. There was obviously no Beetle Rights Society then. The next business was Package Delivery. My brothers and I had a small wagon which was useful for play and also for errands, a regular chore for me. Some of the women, without children of the right age, would have me pick up groceries for them. This was always good for a penny and sometimes for several. A penny was not just a penny. As in any Philadelphia neighborhood then, there was an excellent bakery just around the corner. Every one of them had sticky buns and George Washington cake. We don’t know 9
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much about Paradise, but it just must have sticky buns and George Washington cake. You couldn’t buy a sticky bun for a penny, but the cake was made in sheets and could be cut small enough. For one cent you got a two inch square. There was a pie-crust bottom, an aromatic spice cake middle and a rich chocolate icing. I earned a lot of pennies, but I never saved a dime. All the adults of my early memories stressed doing things well, at work or play. More than money, the ability to be independent was held to be the most desired measure of achievement. This feeling may have been fostered by the fact that so many had lost their jobs working for others. My father often said, one should master a trade, and be proficient in more than one, in order to be truly free. Thus he taught us about tools and how to use them in carpentry, painting, and even a little plumbing and electrical work. Thus we were more likely to make a living in even hard times. All this helped my later engineering career Trades included medicine, law, engineering and so on. Actually most of the families then thought that the progression of a family in America was from labor to skilled labor to the professions. One result was a universal belief in education. Teachers were held in high regard, and thus they were assumed to be in the right in any contretemps with a student. You could pretty well bank on your parents siding with the teacher. I can’t remember, I can’t even imagine a discussion on the justice of homework. Yet recently I read of a lawsuit to determine a student’s right to be free of homework. What all those lessons taught is that there is no freedom without discipline. Children usually think of freedom as “freedom from.” Included might be freedom from: homework, chores, school, supervision and so 10