章 55: Chapter 50: Relief Bread
Chapter 50: Relief Bread
"It's on the left, priced at 10 cents per copy," stated the boss nonchalantly, gesturing towards the location of "Messenger Comics" in response to the inquiry.
"Very well," replied the pedestrian, picking up a copy of "Messenger Comics."
Without uttering much, the pedestrian left 10 cents on the counter and departed.
Surprised by the simplicity of the transaction, the boss couldn't help but display a faintly astonished expression upon seeing the coins in front of him.
"Boss, I would like to purchase a copy of 'Messenger Comics!'" interrupted another eager customer before the boss could fully comprehend the previous encounter.
"Certainly, no problem. It's 10 cents per book," responded the boss after recovering from his momentary confusion.
The morning had been spent dealing with a continuous stream of customers until the boss regained his composure. To his dismay, the stack of "Messenger Comics" in front of the newsstand had been completely sold out. Observing the conspicuous empty space on the bookshelf where "Messenger Comics" used to reside, the newsstand owner felt a mixture of annoyance and joy.
"If only I had known earlier, I would have purchased a few extra copies of 'Messenger Comics' from the delivery person," lamented the owner, the annoyance growing more palpable with each subsequent inquiry at the newsstand.
...
"Thank you, sir," expressed a pallid-faced child dressed in ill-fitting clothes, looking up at Colin with gratitude.
"You're welcome, kid," Colin replied, smiling warmly. He wrapped a piece of bread in a newspaper and placed it in the child's hand. Colin affectionately patted the child's head and spoke gently.
The child clutched the bread tightly against his chest, savoring the warmth it offered, and swiftly made his way out of the line, taking three steps at a time. He hurriedly returned to his parents, who stood at the street corner.
"Mom, mom..." the child called out, proudly holding up the bread wrapped in newspaper, a beaming smile adorning his young face.
"I got the bread."
"Well done, my baby," said the mother, her gaunt face tinged with a hint of shame.
In these times, the line between begging and receiving charity had become increasingly blurred. For many, visits to street soup kitchens had become a regular occurrence, providing the only guarantee of survival during trying times. Some parents, too proud to accept handouts themselves, sent their children as emissaries, knowing their own shame was less deeply ingrained. Even if their own stomachs remained empty, at least their children would not go hungry.
Typically, the street soup kitchens offered only meager portions of food, with no provision for taking food away. However, this time, Mr. Colin Luper from the Messenger newspaper had graciously distributed bread that could be taken home by children to share—a rare treat for impoverished families. Though it was merely a cheap liver bread aka "poor man's pâté," made from porks livermush, for those families who could not even afford a loaf of bread, it was a precious commodity, more satiating than the meager offerings at the roadside soup kitchen.
"For tonight's meal, perhaps we can pair the Liver bread with mashed potatoes and add some wild vegetables we gathered earlier," contemplated the woman as she held her child's hand, making their way towards "Hoover Village." The piece of Liver bread had significantly lightened the burden on their family's dinner.
As the mother lost herself in thought, the child pointed to the figure in the cloak depicted on the newspaper, visible through the folds and blurred words, and inquired innocently, "What's this?"
Caught off guard by her child's question, the mother's attention returned from dinner preparations. She looked down at the newspaper wrapped around the bread in her hand, and with some effort, recognized the figure's identity.
"It's Superman," she replied.
"Superman?" echoed the child, blinking as he gazed at the figure in the newspaper. Gradually, a vague image of Superman formed in his young mind.
...
"In my childhood memories, reading 'Superman' comics from old newspapers was the highlight of my younger years," reminisced Creed Burke. Born on the eve of the Great Depression, when he was merely six years old, Burke experienced the dire effects of the economic downturn. Prior to the depression, his father had worked as a bank clerk, but in 1929, he lost his job and had to find work at the docks to survive. The financial struggles were shared by the Burke family and many others during those challenging times.
"Burke's father would laboriously toil away on the docks all day, only to earn not a single penny. I vividly recall the frequent quarrels between my parents during those times. However, they still managed to live together, albeit under a tense atmosphere. Divorce was still taboo in society, and the associated economic costs were prohibitive. It was a choice between abandonment or remaining together," Burke reflected.
"As life grew increasingly arduous, my family, along with our neighbors, had no choice but to relocate to 'Hooverville.' Once we settled there, my parents' quarrels escalated, and my father turned to alcohol as a means of coping," he continued.
"Despite Prohibition, bootleggers found refuge in 'Hooverville,' brewing subpar wine twenty-four hours a day. These low-quality spirits became highly sought after within the community, to the extent that some would forgo a day's meal to savor a sip of alcohol," Burke recounted.
"One of the unavoidable rites of passage for children is the realization that their parents are fallible. Yet, during the Depression, this realization often came much earlier, as young individuals discovered that their parents were as helpless as infants," he added.
"Due to destitution, my mother would accompany me to the street soup kitchens in search of sustenance. Each time I asked her why she didn't partake in the meal, she would smile and assure me that she had already eaten. Looking back, I now understand that this was her final act of parental devotion," Burke recollected.
"During those trying days, the greatest source of delight for me and other children was reading the 'Superman' comics in the Messenger newspaper. Every Monday morning, Mr. Colin Luper of the Messenger would distribute bread, which he generously wrapped in old copies of the newspaper. As a result, Mondays became the most anticipated day of the week for me," Burke concluded, excerpted from his memoir, "Remembering The Great Depression," by John Walker.
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