I was only nine when the stock market failed in October of 1929. At the peak of the depression we left our home and started for California, where it was said gold was being mined. I was young but I grew fast, learning to fend for myself, to survive on my own.
             We had been traveling for two weeks now. Where we were heading I had no idea. My mother kept saying we were almost there, that it was just a little further. I didn't know what to believe. It felt like we had been traveling for an eternity. It was the winter of '32, three years after the great stock market crash.
             Although we packed as much food as we could, it still wasn't enough to get us through several days. We would stop in soup kitchens along the way, to get a free meal. It always felt awkward to me going to places and having people give us food for free, knowing there were so many others starving, scraping for every penny that they could get. I remember the first soup kitchen we went in, "Brother Can You Spare a Dime" played on the radio as we found ourselves a seat. My father picked up a newspaper sitting on the table. When, finally, he came across something that interested him, I was able to read the title, "12 Million Unemployed across States"
             "It just keeps getting worse," I heard him say, more to himself than to anyone else, followed by, "hopefully this Roosevelt can do better than ol' Herbert." My father always talked of the president that way, with an ol' in front. Mother managed a small smile, probably thinking the same thing I was. It quickly disappeared though as the soup was placed before us. There really were no words to describe it, only that I wondered if our old dog would have touched it. But still, we ate it. I suppose you'll eat anything if you're hungry enough. When we were done we thanked the gentleman that worked there and my father left a nickel. It was getting late so we ...