Response to the post (100 words):
Life in the 1920s was exciting for a guy like me. I was 17 years old and had given up on high school. I was eager to set out on a journey different from that of my parents, a rebel I thought. I packed up my things and traveled by train from my rural hometown in Kansas to the industrial land of Michigan, seeking work at the Ford plant. I developed a strong curiosity for automobiles after seeing a few in person and many advertisements for them in my hometown. Once I got on with the labor force at Ford, I slowly settled into my new surroundings. I found a place to live in the city, renting a room from a co-worker whose family needed help to make ends meet. I worked hard at Ford but didn’t make much money. My days were spent working on the assembly line of the Model A. My nights were spent in town, where the theater was popular and people my age congregated to socialize and be seen. The girls my age were rebels in their own right. With their new found style and loosened morals, women created quite the distraction for me and my obsession with them and alcohol cost me my job at Ford. Desperate for work, I took up a job driving a transport car for one of the bootleggers in town that needed help to keep up with demand for alcohol. The excitement and thrill of the criminal life was intoxicating, more so than the whiskey. Fortunately, that life was short lived for me. Forced out violently by the a rival bootlegger, my employer left town and with no money or job, I had to move back to Kansas. Unable to produce, my family lost the farm and my father deserted us to escape the shame. Here’s to welfare…
Response to the post (100 words):
It’s 1933, and I’m a 25 year old mother of two little kids, with another on the way. We have a small house just outside of Pittsburg, Pennsylvania. My husband was laid off of his job as a steelworker. We had some money saved up, so he decided to try his luck in Galveston, TX. He heard there were some opportunities that opened up, yet he never discussed what.
Meanwhile, I took in my parents, as they also struggle. I figured that we could costs by living together, and also give me the chance to find some work while they watch the kids. Our euphoria was short-lived, as only a couple weeks later my father was laid off of his factory job. I didn’t have any luck finding anything useful, but let’s even if jobs were available, who would hire a seven-month pregnant lady. Things have gotten to the point where I don’t think I’ll be able to feed my children much longer. After the last bits of savings were used up, we went to the food bank every night. However, the sheer number of unemployed people mean that food is very limited. If we’re late, we don’t get any.
My father got really sick; his age was catching up with him. With all of us jobless, we could only care for my dad at home. We couldn’t afford a doctor. To top off this downward spiral, my husband has been gone for four months we haven’t gotten the chance to talk a lot. He must have found a small job, as he would send us a little bit of money when he could. But one Wednesday morning, I received a telegram; my husband took his own life. The stress was too great. The only hope we have left is that President Roosevelt’s New Deal program will change the country.
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