‘We were about something,’ the Storyteller said. ‘We spoke of the dignity of work,’ the storyteller continued. ‘Dad was a habadasher, and mom worked in the lunch room of the junior high school,’ the Storyteller noted. ‘They worked and saved their money until they could purchase a little house,’ the Storyteller noted. ‘They had a station wagon that we took vacations in during the summer,’ the Storyteller noted. ‘We worked hard in school so that we could succeed in life,’ the Storyteller explained. ‘We went to church every Sunday, and Sunday School, the Storyteller smiled. ‘I learned that Jesus loves the little children…all the little children of the world…red, yellow, black and white…all are precious in his sight,’ the Storyteller remembered. ‘We kids swore some in private company, but many words were verboten…Neva J said shit, and it had a profound effect,’ the Storyteller laughed. ‘Stores were closed on Sunday…you did not cut your grass on Sunday… no liquor was sold on Sunday,’ the Storyteller noted. ‘Neva J liked to Honky Tonk on Saturday night…she did not brag about it,’ the Storyteller winked.

‘I was a member of 4H and Girl Scouts,’ Neva J said with a smile. ‘I went to work in the Shoe Factory at 16,’ Neva J noted. ‘I made very little money…I thought I was rich,’ Neva J laughed. ‘Bill was drafted to fight in the Pacific,’ Neva J said. ‘I worked and waited for him to return,’ Neva J said quietly. ‘We girls and women kept the War effort alive on the home front,’ Neva J observed. ‘High Finance was kept in your bank book with each deposit and withdrawal meticulously entered in pen,’ Neva J said. ‘I practiced cursive writing until my product became quite legible…I wrote a lot of letters to Bill,’ Neva J continued. ‘Dutch went missing in the War, and we never saw him again,’ Neva J said with tears in her eyes. ‘When Bill came home, we moved from Southern Illinois to Chicago for work,’ Neva J explained. We came back to Eldorado when we began having marital discord…Bill opened a Mechanic Shop with his friend Bob. ‘We sisters went to Mom’s house each Monday night to visit with her,’ Neva J grinned. ‘I was continually saving money after experiencing what it was like to have none,’ Neva J noted. ‘I did not borrow money but gave it to the needy,’ Neva J said.

‘No one had a job…we worked for pennies a day…many who were rich could not cope with the change in their situation,’ the Storyteller said. ‘I worked at the CC Camp helping to build Giant City State Park, the Storyteller noted. ‘Everyone was the same…no one looked down on their brother or sister…we all were happy to have something to eat and a place to lay our head,’ the Storyteller noted. ‘The song lyric, ‘Brother, can you spare a dime,’ was our lives, the Storyteller continued. ‘Whoever comes to my home, I offer food,’ the Storyteller said. ‘I have a workingman’s house, but I buy plenty to eat and good cuts of meat,’ the Storyteller said. ‘We mind our own business, and I enjoy fishing and planting a big garden,’ the Storyteller explained. ‘We take a little vacation in our Maverick car and see as much of the country as we can…we eat tuna fish for lunch and take in dinner at one of the local restaurants,’ the Storyteller said.

We have lost stories. Our stories are what unite us. Stories give us our sense of place. Our stories cause us to press on when the going gets tough. Our stories compel us to care about each other.