Hard Times

by Studs Terkel

  The last Depression was blamed on the lack of regulation. This Depression which is coming will be blamed on too much regulation. The way we’ll try to get out of it is to truly go back to a free system of exchange. Whether that’ll work, I don’t know.

  People blamed Hoover for the Depression. He had no control over it. If the Depression hits now, they’ll blame the Government. You always have one danger when you blame Government: disturbances tend to create chaos. Chaos will create a demand for a strong man. A strong man will be most repressive. The greater the Depression, the greater the chaos.

  I don’t think we’re basically a revolutionary country. We have too large a middle class. The middle class tends to be apathetic. An apathetic middle class gives stability to a system. They never get carried away strongly, one way or the other. Maybe we’ll have riots, maybe we’ll have shootings. Maybe we’ll have uprisings as the farmers did in Iowa. But you won’t have revolution.

  I remember standing in my father’s office in the Reaper Block,191 watching a march on City Hall. I was seven or eight. I remember his comment about red flags and revolution. He said, “The poor devils are just looking for bread.” They weren’t out to harm anyone. All they were marching for was food. I thought: Why were they looking for food? There were plenty of stores.

  There was always talk in the house about the financial crisis. I remember listening to Father Coughlin about money changers in the temple. I lived in a Protestant neighborhood. It seemed there were more Protestants listening to Father Coughlin than there were Catholics. My father listened to him. He was like everybody else: anybody that had a solution, they’d grab onto it.

  But he was a liberal and a Democrat and a strong supporter of Roosevelt. One of my favorite pastimes, during the campaign, was sitting across the front room, watching him repeat after Roosevelt as Roosevelt talked. You know, telling off the other side. Since most of his brothers-in-law were conservative Republicans, he enjoyed that particularly.

  I went along with him. I can remember writing a term paper in high school: “The Need for a Planned Economy.” I take it out and read it once in a while, just to see how foolish youth can be. How could anyone take that seriously?

  The income tax changed me. I was making some money. It burned me up thinking now I had to file it with the Government. It was the fact that I had to sit down and report to somebody what I made. I had to keep records. And I’m so tired of keeping records.

  I’m a happy-go-lucky Irish type. As long as I’ve got enough money to pay rent next month, I’m happy. I don’t like to sit down: Did I make a big fortune or did I lose a deal? How much did I pay the secretary? How much did I pay for the cabs? Half the time when I had arguments with Internal Revenue, I don’t keep track of those things. We have to be bookkeepers: ten cents for the cab tip, twenty-five cents for a meal, what have you. We’re building the bookkeeper type. The New Deal and all those agencies contributed to this….

  Of course, we had social problems thrown in with the Depression. We had the beginning of the liberal movement in which Communists were in the forefront. They made use of labor with strikes, sit-ins, the many problems we had at that time. A free economy would have straightened out these problems.

  Looking back, many individuals would have been hurt, etc. But as a result of the programs, many more are now hurt than would have been hurt at the time. In an attempt to alleviate a temporary situation, they’ve created a monstrosity.

  Many of the people I knew in law school, children of the Depression, talked about how they had to quit school for help. The father who had been a doctor took a janitor’s job. They would do anything rather than take public money. Then it was just the thought that you couldn’t take someone else’s money. It was a matter of pride. Now I have some of that left over… .

  POSTSCRIPT: “And there’s the added feature: I am somewhat of a snob. My children are going to know some of the best of society. Not the best, necessarily. Though money is an indication. They’re going to know the best who are working a little harder, applying themselves with greater effort, and will be going further. We work a great deal for our children. It’s nice to think there are wonderful ditchdiggers in the world, but that’s for somebody else’s daughter.”

  Emma Tiller

  In the mid-Thirties, she found herself “on my own, and the world was sorta new to me. wasn’t no longer where I had to take orders. I’m grown, I can do as I please, go where I want to, come back when I want to… .”

  I TRAINED my own self to cook. I always been a listener and a long memory. I could listen to one of Betty Crocker’s whole programs and memorize for years afterwards. Cook it. I never doubted myself in nobody’s kitchen. Which always means I had a job. You felt this independent because you knew they needed you. That’s why I studied to be a good cook.

  If it was an ordinarily rich family, you had the whole house under your control. So I ordered the food and I cooked somethin’ and it didn’t turn out the way I want it, I dumped it out and cooked somethin’ else. ‘Cause I’m tryin’ to learn how to be a good cook. Rich people could afford me.’Cause when you make mistakes, if I got money, I ain’t gonna cry about you wasted sugar, you wasted this, you wasted that. I quit those jobs.

  In 1937, I was workin’ for a very wealthy family in Wichita Falls. Her husband was a doctor. She told me she was going to have forty people for lawn dinner, ate outdoors. When you work for them rich people in the South, you don’t go and buy no frozen peas and beans and rolls. Uh-uh, you cook them rolls, you shells them peas, you string them beans….

  She was supposed to get some caterers in to serve this food, because this food has got to be cooked in the kitchen and served outside. I kept askin’ her: Has she seen the caterer mans? No, she said, she’d get ’em. So this week came and I asked her again. The dinner was to be Tuesday. No, but she’d get ’em.

  So I said to myself: This woman intends to make me serve this meal from this stove, after cookin’ for forty people. And you serve it in courses, yeah. So I said: Mm-hmmm, I better start plannin’ what I’m gonna do with her now. Another thing I didn’t like about her, she was a very stingy person. I was gettin’ kinda bored with this house anyway. And gettin’ more independent, too. Remember, I was a pretty good cook by now. She’d have this habit … when I get through work, I want my money, and I don’t want to have to ask you for it or wait two hours, while you fool around. Give me my money. I tell ‘em: give it to me while I’m livin’.

  Every week when I get through workin’ she would go and get in bed. She would lay there and pretend she was sleepin’. I come in. (Utters a mock sigh.) Oh, go in there, Emma. I think my purse is in there. And when I get back with that purse, she’d be dozed off again. And you gotta stand there and call her gently: here is your purse.

  So I knew she wasn’t gonna get anybody to help me. So that Monday, week before, we had to start the gatherin’ of vegetables. She says, “We’ll start orderin’ the stuff Monday.” They always say “we” when they mean “you.” So Monday we brought about a bushel and a half of green beans, washed ‘em, packing ’em away. She ordered about three hundred pounds of ice, ‘cause the refrigerator couldn’t hold it all. Then she was gonna serve peaches with cream on ’em. I opened all the peach cans and poured’em in crocks and then put that down in ice.

  She recounts, in loving detail, the other foods to be prepared: the caviar and a variety of other hors d’oeuvres; the nature of exotic condiments; the scores of capons, … “all the fancy dishes, all the little extra things… . I fixed up special puddings and salads… .”

  This you also has to serve. This is before dinner, along with the drinks. They is the whiskiest folks you ever saw. Then you serve this hot dinner. Imagine anybody putting all this work on one human being.

  I know I’m gonna leave. But since she has been so nasty, I’m gonna put her into a real doozy. She got forty people, doctors, teachers, oil mens, that all hadda be big shots. Some of ‘em comin’ from New York. Mm-hmm this he
re is real nice.

  So I works up until Saturday. All the food is prepared for the Monday cookin’ for the Tuesday servin’. That Saturday, I had to wake her up again, that sleep: give me my money. I said to myself: Sister, if you knew what I had on my mind, you wouldn’t lay down.

  That Sunday, I was supposed to go back at eleven and fix their lunch. I got my money and I didn’t see no point to it, because I’m not goin’ back there. With all this food stacked up, corn cut off the cob, big tub and half full of that …

  She did call Sunday the lady next door: Was I sick? I didn’t answer. She didn’t worry much. She know I had to be there on Monday. That Monday, I went visitin’. I’m a week advance on my rent and I got about $6 in my pocket. I’m rich. I was supposed to be on the job at eight o’clock. I didn’t get out of bed till nine. I decided I’d lounge around till the last of the week. A good cook is always in demand.

  So on Monday she calls the lady where I rented from, where I had servant quarter in the back. You see, when I’m workin’ for a family like that, I always rent some place else. Because when you lose your job, you don’t lose your house.

  So eleven o‘clock, I come back from visitin’. This other white lady said, “That woman you work for says you had all the food fixed up out there and she’s got forty rich people that is comin’ there for dinner Tuesday, and you left and didn’t say nothin’ about it. Is you sick?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m not sick.”

  “How come you didn’t go to work?”

  I said, “Didn’t I pay you your rent Saturday?”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “When the time comes you don’t get your rent, that’s the time you says somethin’ to me. But when I work, whether I work or don’t work is none of your business. That woman been knowin’ for six weeks she was gonna have forty people there. She thinks she’s gonna make me do all that work for that same $7. Not on your life.”

  She was to pay you $7 for that day?

  Seven bucks a week, honey. So this landlady says, “My, my, my, you should be ashamed of yourself.” I said, “I’m not ashamed. I done enough work for that woman. I have to wake her up every time it come time for her to pay me, she go to sleep. If that woman had died, her husband woulda said he didn’t owe me. I don’t like anybody sleepin’ on my money.” And I said, “And where would you be without Rosalie?” Rosalie used to do all her slave work. That shut ’er up.

  How did the lawn party go?

  I had it all figured out, don’t think I haven’t thought of every bit of it. I could see them big pot-gut doctors and their wives with all their fancy dresses and all, comin’ into her house, and sittin’ up there with her eyes full of tears… .

  If you was stupid enough to let ‘em get away with it, they’ll give you an extra dollar or two. And she figure on some of these people givin’ you a little tip—and that was gonna be your pay. You got your tongue hangin’ out… .

  That was my awakenin’. I felt good. I think all Negroes have this feelin’, when they feel secure enough they can hold up their heads like mens and womens. It’s like that old sayin’: as long as you got your hand in the lion’s mouth, you have to be easy till you get it out. Well, I got my hand out… .

  W. Clement Stone

  “The attainment of one goal should be the springboard to another higher and more noble effort.” Signed—W. A. Ward. “Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement.” Signed—Helen Keller. “Smile, be happy, keep smiling.”

  There are numerous such inspirational messages in the corridors and elevators of the Combined Insurance Company of America Building. Happy, fox-trotty string music is heard through the halls, a soft background.

  Behind a huge desk, sits the ebullient president. He has a pencil-thin mustache (“in those days, movie stars, Ronald Colman, John Gilbert and others did it”); he wears a wide bow tie (“it’s an indication of an extrovert, someone with a high energy level, someone who has drive, who gets things done”); he smokes long, thick Cuban cigars (“when we had our Castro troubles, I bought up the equivalent of three warehouses”). He offers me a couple. “When you take the label off, you’ll see it’s ’59.” His laugh is unique; it has a five-note rise. He happily concedes these phenomena are carefully planned. It’s a matter of image.

  He is a celebrated philanthropist and was listed in Fortune as one of America’s new centi-millionaires. His companies employ at least four thousand, with sales representatives in many other countries. Some are welfare states, where he sells “supplementary coverage.”

  “I started selling newspapers at the age of six on the South Side of Chicago. I found if I tried to sell at a busy corner, the larger kids would beat me up. So I found out that if I’d go in a restaurant, and even if the owner would push me out a few times, sooner or later I’d sell my pile of papers. Actually, that’s what started me on cold canvassing—calling on people unannounced.”

  MANY OF US learned in the Depression how to turn a disadvantage into an advantage. First of all, we have what is known as PMA, positive mental attitude. It’s based on the premise that God is always a good God, that with every adversity there’s a seed of greater benefit.

  During the Depression, there were tremendous advantages to a sales manager. A man was willing to accept any kind of job. All I needed to do was to take a man out and show him how to make twenty, thirty, forty dollars a day, and I had a salesman. We—I use the editorial we—know how to make supermen out of ordinary men.

  Would you mind expanding on this?

  Rrrrrright!

  (He presents me with several books: Success Through A Positive Mental Attitude, The Success System That Never Fails and Think and Grow Rich. He refers to the last: “That’s the greatest book that came out of the Depression. In 1937. By Napoleon Hill. That book motivated more people to success than any book you can buy by a living author.”)

  Actually, in the Depression years, many men who were successful in the Twenties became has-beens. They had a negative mental attitude. They were men making $30,000 a year and didn’t have the courage to start at the bottom and work up. Others realized opportunities were unlimited, if they were willing to think and willing to pay the price. A person doesn’t have to be poor. Anyone in the United States could acquire great wealth today.

  I said to myself: Why shouldn’t I earn in a day what others earn in a week? Why shouldn’t I earn in a week, what others earn in a month? Why shouldn’t I earn in a month, what others earn in a year? How can I do it? The answer was simple. Work scientifically.

  First of all, I’d always thank God for my blessings. Then I’d use a very simple prayer: Please, God, help me sell. Please, God, help me sell. Please, God, help me sell. Please, God, help me sell. Please, God, help me sell. This did many things, the mystic power of prayer. It got me keyed up. I threw all the energy I had into it. Immediately afterward, I’d unwind and relax.

  Do you recall any sad moments during those hard days … ?

  I don’t believe in sadness. I believe if you have a problem, that’s good. When I’d have a poor day, I would try to figure out what’s wrong with me. Maybe I needed more rest or go see a movie. The next day would be a rrrecoooord day!

  When the Depression hit, I had over a thousand licensed salesmen in the United States. I soon found out they weren’t selling. So I traveled the country and wound up with 235. I trained these men. And we sold more insurance than in the boom days when we had a thousand men.

  Here, he discusses the self-motivator: self commands, affirmation. “You say fifty or a hundred times in the morning, fifty or a hundred times at night, for, say, ten days, until it affects the self-conscious mind: ‘Success is achieved by those who try.’ Or, ‘Where there’s nothing to lose by trying and a great deal to gain, by all means try.’ Or, ‘Do it now.’ Or, ‘Do the right thing because it is right.’ ”

  My man’d go into a place, he might be nervous. So we’d have him talk loudly, talk rapidly, emphasize certain words, hesitate where there’s a
period or a comma, a smile in his voice, and when he talked for a long time, he’d use modulation. It worked a hundred times out of a hundred.

  In the Thirties, I sold accident insurance. Cold canvass. Unannounced, I’d call on banks, stores, offices, during business hours. And sell the manager and get permission to sell in the establishment.

  First of all, you’d need a good introduction, so they’ll listen. I’ve used one continuously since, because it works: “I believe this will interest you also.” You is a very important word. At that point, if I’d hesitate, he might say, “What have you got?” “Well, since you asked me, I’ll tell ya.” Ordinarily, I wouldn’t wait. I just go in about the time the prospect gets a little nervous and wants to get away. I’d release tension by using humor.

  If you don’t see anything funny about your standard joke, you’d laugh at yourself for telling it. (Laughs in a five-note ascending scale.) Right! I’d say, “If you’re hurt—we even pay if your feelings are hurt, how’s that?” (Laughs.)

  Of course, I used the directional force of the eyes and my fountain pen, so the individual looked at what I’m pointing to. Thus, he concentrates through the sense of sight and the sense of hearing. If you had an objection, it wouldn’t occur to you in that short span of time. You have a nervous system, I know how to tap it.

  You’d have to have an effective close. If you wanted the person to say yes, you’d ask an affirmative question: “You see what I mean?” Now you just shook your head yes, whether you understood me or not. Why? Because I made it easy for you. If I want a no, it’s very easy. Make a negative statement. Now you don’t have accident insurance, do you? Be frank….

  No, no, I haven’t. No.

  You see? I made it easy for you to say no. That eliminated a lot of argument. So it was a matter of a one-two-three sale. I made 122 sales in one day in the Depression. Since then, we’ve had men who’ve done much better. If I wanted to sell you an accident insurance policy, it would never occur to me that you wouldn’t buy. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t.