I know it’s not right, to take what’s not mine
I’m sure it’s not right, I know stealing’s a crime
But I know what it’s like to see my life going down
Like gravel in a grave…
one grain at a time
~Mark Erelli, lyrics taken from ‘Every Goodbye’
By the summer of 1931, many were coming to the realization that the majority of Americans were hopelessly poor. Lost wages, lost opportunities, lost time, and, ultimately, lost hope demoralized millions across this great land. With too many in want to ignore, those who were more fortunate teetered on a moral divide. “Surely a believing country would not let its citizens starve,” wrote one concerned reporter.
In her remarkable novel, “The Invisible Scar,” author Caroline Bird relates that, to ease the burden of a seared conscience, rich folks devised a new demographic–the deserving poor. Distinguished from the undeserving poor (those who were thought to be unwilling to work and to save) the deserving poor were those who were deemed to be somehow caught in the crossfire–good people who, because of extraordinary circumstances, lost their livelihoods.
To provide assistance, food scraps were gathered by the wealthy who made it a practice of dining at “eating clubs.” Scraped from the plates and placed into pails, the scraps were sent to the homes of those who had been somehow hand-selected as worthy of eating their leftovers.
And if you’re into happy endings, it’s a sure thing that many of these “charitable” souls slept peacefully through some of the worst years this country has ever known by knowing that they, graciously and unselfishly, gave of their table scraps to help those who were deserving.
Reminders of depression and drought just east of Beloit, KS
Leave a note.