No. 85 March, 2009
A Farm Boy's
Great Depression Story
By Harold Ratzburg
We have all been reading a lot these days about the recession our country is in and the depression we are heading into. Being an Old Geezer, I was born a long time ago in 1929, when the big one started. That "Great Depression" did not end until the advent of World War Two about 1941 or 42, so the first twelve years of my life were lived in that period.
I find that I remember very well a number of things that I would like to share with you if you are interested, If you are not, then just quit reading right here.
I was born and raised on the farm that is now owned by Tim Nolan, out on Co Hyw G, south of Marion. The first farm up the road to the west of us was owned by Bill Dieck where he and his family lived in a real, honest-to-Gawd, log house and they got their water from a well beside the house whose pump was powered by a windmill on a tower right above it. No electricity back then, they used the good old kerosene lamps. (It did my heart good when I visited the Marion Historical Center to see the old stove that was donated by Sam and Pearl Dieck sitting there on display, because that stove more than likely came from the old log house that I remember.)
The next farm up the road was owned by Louie Krueger, and would you believe, that is where Leland "Korney" Krueger, of Marion Advertiser fame, was born and raised. Korney and I and a bunch of other kids used to hike home from Maple Valley Grade School together, and I do recall that I was always kinda scared of Korney back then, because he was sort of the school tough guy. I was always a little afraid that he was gonna punch me out for some reason, but he never did.
But I digress-------let's get back to the Great Depression.
Things were hard, but as a kid I didn't spend a lot of time worrying about it. As the saying goes, 'we were poor but we didn't know it" because most all the people we knew were in the same situation.
My wardrobe at the time was nothing that you could call fancy.. The only pants I had were good old Oshkosh-By-Gosh bib overalls, and they were changed regularly, every Saturday night when we got a bath, wether we needed it or not. The newest or cleanest overalls were the ones we wore to church the next day.
The bath in the winter time was taken in a wash tub beside the potbellied stove in the living room, which, besides the kitchen with the wood fueled cook stove, was the only heated room in the house. After getting ready for bed, we would run up the stairway and jump into bed because it was cold. I kept an Army canteen hanging on the bedpost for refreshment overnight, and sometimes the water in it was frozen solid.
We did not feel the need to change stockings every day. In the winter, we wore woolen stocking and because we were farm kids, we most of the time wore overshoes to help out in the barn and keep our feet warm and dry in the snow. Overshoes and wool socks kinda made your feet sweat a lot and the socks got really moist every day. To dry them out overnight, they were laid out near the potbelly stove. In the morning, especially toward the end of the week, they were stiff like a board and had to be broken down a little before you could put them on. Obviously, the sock drying created a certain aroma in the living room, but like barn smell, you kinda got used to it.
The "Great Depression" did directly affect our family. My Grandpa, William C. Ratzburg, owned the farm when I was born, and he had financial problems that were caused because he tried to be too much of a "good" guy. When friends needed money, they would come to visit and they and Grandpa would walk out behind the barn away from Grandma, where Grandpa would be persuaded to co-sign notes for them. Eventually he co-signed enough notes that went unpaid by his friends that he was caught up very very short. In 1938, Grandpa passed away and left the farm, that was heavily in debt, to his kids.
My Dad, the oldest, took over the farm, (his siblings signed off on it.) and Dad kept the old homestead going, with great difficulty.
One old statement that I have from the Maple Valley Cheese Factory where he hauled the milk every morning, shows that in July, 1932, Dad received a whole $110.56 for the 17,116 pounds of milk that he delivered that month. That milk, and an occasional cash crop of a pig or calf sold to Zehm's stock yard in Marion, eggs brought into town to trade for stuff at the grocery stores and maybe the occasional sale of a cord of firewood kept the old homestead going.
Long about December, 1940, starting to walk home from Maple Valley Grade School one day, I saw a notice posted on a telephone pole beside the road, just across from the Maple Valley Cheese Factory. Of course I was curious, so I cut through the snow in the ditch to check it out. It had sleeted the night before, so the notice was covered by ice, but I could read it through the glaze. It said that Louie Ratzburg's farm had been foreclosed on, and was to be sold at Sheriff's auction in January. Boy, did that ever take the starch out of my socks. I was embarrassed for sure, and upset, but what could I do. I smashed the icey cover with my fist and proceeded on home. I guess I had known that times were hard, but to maybe lose the old homestead was hard for this kid to comprehend.
Somehow, Dad did manage to hold on by declaring bankruptcy and with the help of some Government programs, he did not lose the farm. After that he always said that Roosevelt had helped him save the farm and that he would therefore vote as a Democrat for the rest of his life. And he did.
One incident in grade school did emphasize to me that times were maybe harder at our house than at some other peoples houses. The teacher started a music class in my grade and one of the requirements was that we each had to buy a "Tonet", which was a small whistle shaped gizzmo with 10 holes that you blew into and played by covering or uncovering the holes with your fingers. Those Tonets cost maybe two dollars, maybe less, but my folks just couldn't swing it. Herbie Tischauser, Gordon Gruenstern, and Dickie Krueger each got one, but I didn't, so I had to sit out the music lessons. Needless to say, that hurt more than a little bit, but such was life for this farm kid during the Great Depression.
You know what-------I finally got my very own Tonet. I found one at a flea market a coupla years ago, and it now hangs on the wall of the family room, as a reminder of how much better things are these days.
To philosophize a little, I would say that the hard times were a good teacher to me. We all learned to "make do" with what we had and to not waste anything, so I still find it hard to throw anything away that might be useful someday. The result is that our present homestead has a kinda cluttered appearance to some people, but we are comfortable with it that way, because my little Frau feels the same.
My Wife Anneliese was born in Germany and while growing up there, experienced the fun and games of World War Two. She was sweet sixteen when the war ended in 1945. Her family house and home was destroyed by bombs on December 17, 1944, so she was homeless for a number of years. She survived the bombing raid in a shelter and emerged with literally only the clothes on her back. To replace her burned up toothbrush, she had to scrounge through the ruins of the city with her brother until she found a used one. She used salt instead of tooth paste until the first tube of Colgate came from an Aunt in America after the Aunt found out the family was still alive, sometime in 1946 or 47. Talk about making do and learning to be frugal !!!
I will bet that my little Frau Anneliese can out-frugal anybody, except maybe her sisters and a coupla old girlfriends of her's that went through the same experience in war time Germany. You oughta hear the war stories when they get together !!!
copyright 2009, Harold Ratzburg
Harold Ratzburg was born at the start of the Great Depression and raised on a Dairy Farm in Wisconsin. He served four years in the US Air Force in the 50's and was stationed in Germany, where he met his wife Anneliese, who helped get him through College to become a Civil Engineer. After a time as a Highway Engineer and College Instructor, he wound up as a City Engineer of a small town in New Jersey. Twenty four years later he retired to become an old geezer telling old stories on his new fangled computer.
