A hundred and two years ago, In the spring of the 1923, my father finished his eighth, and last, year of school. North Dakota was dotted with small buildings where eight grades were taught: once school was out students became workers of the rich soil that produced food rather missile silos or oil.
The original tribes, as well as the buffalo, were already fading from memory, the War to End All Wars was in the near past. There was not yet a hint of bank failures, dust bowls, depressions, or another even bigger war. Compulsory education was a decade away. Those who wanted more school boarded in larger towns with high schools – my mother, a couple counties away, was one of those: she loved school and basketball.
1923 was a pause between global disasters, a time when a young man could decide he needed no education beyond the basics. My father could read, he could write, he could work. God, how he could work. And for decades he did just that; he worked at whatever jobs came along, accumulating skills that were always for sale: farmer, orchard man, shoemaker, brick layer, stone mason, carpenter, railroad worker, glass repairman, truck driver, welder, mechanic, whatever needed to be done, he could do it.
In this month of my 90th year I dithered over the “occupation” box for a family history required for a medical procedure, finally writing “yes” as I’ve wanted for years.
It is tempting to glamorize the past, to see it as Little House on the Prairie, a time inhabited by the noble savage, simple yet connected to nature in simple ways. It was none of that, of course. My father worked at anything and everything. and taught us how to work. I learned practical things: to check my own oil, to change a tire, to depend on myself, to help my family first and then others, to always have a book at hand.
As most country men of his time, he did not talk a lot, did not lead in conversations or debates, but what he had to say, he said well. From him I learned political truths. He insisted that if i believed in people I had to vote for a Democrat, if I believed in money I would vote for a Republican. That was his only instruction, a truth that has determined my vote for decades, and one I find painfully important at the present.
I test that paradigm against current politicians. Tariffs, destruction of Medicare and Medicaid, libraries and PBS defunded, Meals on Wheels, medical research, climate research, FEMA, etc. I cannot find a single cut for any reason other than to provide tax cuts for the super rich.
In the same way I know that the sun will come up, I know that Habitat for Humanity (or ECHO Village or Cup of Love) is far more important than Trump Towers will ever be. We grow stronger by helping each other, happier by sharing, richer by dividing what we have, more protected by protecting others, and create a better nation by remembering that people are more important than wealth… and voting that way.
Marie Howard
Wow Marie! So beautifully written. Thank you