Remembering the bad old days
There are not many of us left who remember the Great Depression of the 1930 s. My parents were sharecroppers on a dry-bean farm. Thirtyfive miles east of Colorado Springs, they gave one third of the beans they raised for rent. They were hard times. My parents worked hard to feed us, but if someone needed a home, they took them in.
At that time, men were looking for work. These men were hiking past our place on U. S. Highway 24. These men were called hobos, and they would stop and ask Mom if she could spare a bite to eat while they sat on the porch. Mom would fry two or three eggs with a couple of slices of bread. When they got through eating, they would go to the woodpile and chop a nice pile of firewood. I just hope we don't see those days again.
Bill Moreland
Rogers
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