American Progress

by Veda Boyd Jones

  A New Start

  The next day, FDR called a national bank holiday and closed all the banks in the country. When Fred heard the news, fear slithered through him.

  “Not one bank open in the whole country! What are people going to do to get money?” he asked his father.

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Father told him. “Lots of people believe that one of the reasons for the depression is problems with the banks. FDR is closing the banks so the problems can be fixed. He has a group of experts who will be working to solve the problems. Then the banks will open again.”

  “How soon until they open again?” Fred asked.

  Father shook his head. “I don’t know. No one knows. When the experts think they’ve fixed the problems, I guess.”

  Father’s words didn’t make Fred feel any better. Fred just felt sick to his stomach every time he thought about the banks being closed.

  His stomach felt worse in church a week later when the offering plate was passed. There was only a little money in the plate when it came to him. There were a lot of IOU notes in it.

  The banks weren’t the only thing in the news. The German government had given some man named Adolph Hitler power over their country. Fred heard a few people at church say they didn’t like that, but most people felt like one old man Fred overheard:

  “We can’t be troubling ourselves about other countries’ problems,” the old man said. “We need to fix our own country before we’ll be strong enough to help any other countries.”

  Fred wasn’t at all sure the United States could fix the depression.

  The Harringtons and the Pattersons had started getting together every Sunday. They’d share meals and talk and sometimes play games. Always they ended up listening to the radio after supper.

  On March 12, the Sunday a week after the inauguration, FDR came on the radio to talk to the country again. He said this would be the first of what he called “fireside chats,” where he would talk to the country on the radio every Sunday night. He wanted to let the country know what he was trying to do to make things better. He wanted to know what people thought he should do, too. He invited everyone who wanted to write to him and his wife.

  One of the things FDR talked about during his first fireside chat was the banks. Fred shushed Anna’s little brothers and sisters, who were playing in the middle of the Pattersons’ living room. “I want to hear this,” he told them.

  “Some of our bankers,” the president said, “had shown themselves either incompetent or dishonest in their handling of the people’s funds. They had used the money entrusted to them in speculations and unwise loans…. It was the government’s job to straighten out this situation and to do it as quickly as possible. And the job is being performed.”

  “That’s just what you said, Father,” Fred whispered, “that he was trying to fix the bank problems.”

  Father nodded but didn’t say anything. Fred could tell he was trying to hear the radio, so Fred listened, too. The next news was good: Banks in the twelve largest cities in the United States were going to open the next day!

  “Are we one of the twelve largest cities?” Anna asked.

  “No,” her father said, “but we’re close. If the banks in those other cities are opening, the banks here will open soon.”

  Fred and Anna grinned at each other. Fred felt like a rock had rolled off his chest. He’d been worried about those closed banks!

  FDR told the people he’d asked Congress for money to help the banks. Congress agreed to give it to the banks, but the money was going to have to come from somewhere. Congress and FDR had decided they would get the money from two places: from money that was supposed to go to people who worked for the federal government and from veterans.

  “Oh, no.” Anna’s mother’s eyes looked troubled. “Not from veterans! One of the reasons I voted for FDR is because I didn’t like the way Hoover treated the veterans. Now FDR is taking money from them, too!”

  “At least he’s trying to help the banks,” Fred’s father said.

  Anna’s mother sighed. “I suppose so. There’s only so much money to go around. I guess he has to take it from somewhere.”

  On his fireside chat the next Sunday night, the president told the country he’d sent a bill to Congress to help the farmers. It was called the Agricultural Adjustment Act, or the AAA.

  On the next fireside chat, he told them he’d sent a bill to Congress to help unemployment. It was called the Emergency Conservation Work Act, or the ECW. He’d also signed a bill making the sale and drinking of beer legal again.

  “Oh, dear!” Fred’s mother held her hands to her face. “That’s the first time any liquor has been legal since Prohibition became law in 1920.”

  Fred knew his mother had fought hard for Prohibition. She believed it wasn’t good for children when their parents drank.

  “FDR says the new law will make new jobs,” Fred’s father reminded her. “He’s probably right.”

  Mother sighed. “I suppose so, but I still don’t think the new law will be good for children.”

  “The city is like a new place, isn’t it?” Chet said as he and Fred walked along one of the downtown streets together. “It used to feel like the city was asleep. No one seemed to have any hope things could get better. Now the city is jumping.”

  Fred nodded. “It sure is.”

  They had to move out into the street to walk around the next building. Wood was stacked on the sidewalk. A scaffolding covered the lower part of the store. A man stood on it, painting. Fred recognized the store. It had been empty a long time.

  “Looks like this is going to be another saloon,” Chet said.

  They’d passed a number of other buildings that were being cleaned up. Most of them were going to be used for selling beer. The law said people could begin selling it next month.

  “I guess FDR was right,” Chet said. “The new beer law is going to make a lot of new jobs. The factories in town that make beer are already hiring people. They want to have beer ready to sell when the law starts. Men are sleeping outside the breweries, hoping to be the first in line when they hire people.”

  “Are you going to try to get one of the new jobs?” Fred asked.

  Chet kicked at a stone. “Naw. I have an uncle who’s a drunk. It really hurts his family. I don’t want a job making something that hurts people.”

  Fred nodded. “That’s what Dot’s father said, too.”

  “Even if I wanted to work making beer, I probably couldn’t get a job. Most jobs are still being given to men who have families to take care of.”

  They walked on a little farther. “It’s my birthday today,” Chet said quietly.

  Fred stared at him in surprise. “It is? How old are you?”

  “Eighteen. Maybe I’ll be able to get more jobs now. Maybe employers won’t keep thinking I’m such a kid.”

  Fred didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. Finally he said, “Maybe Mother will make a birthday cake for you.”

  Chet’s cheeks flushed. He pulled the visor of his cap down almost to his eyebrows. “Naw. Birthday cakes are for kids.”

  Fred was pretty sure Chet would really like to have Mother make him a cake, but he didn’t push it.

  Everywhere they went, people seemed in good moods. One worker who was putting new glass in a store window was singing the FDR song. Fred and Chet found themselves humming along:

  Happy days are here again!

  The skies above are clear again!

  Let’s all sing a song of cheer again—

  Happy days are here again!

  Fred wasn’t sure he believed the words, but he found his step had a bounce to it that hadn’t been there before. “Are you staying at our place tonight?” he asked Chet.

  “Naw.” The older boy spread his hands, looked up at the sunny sky, and grinned. “Spring is almost here!”

  Fred knew what that meant. With nicer weather, Chet wasn’t so worried about finding a place to sleep. If he coul
dn’t stay at one of the missions, he’d sleep outside—probably in one of the hobo jungles. That way he wouldn’t feel guilty about staying in a bed he couldn’t pay for.

  Fred gave Chet a friendly poke with his elbow. “I was getting kind of used to having you around.”

  “Think I’ll be leaving town in a couple days,” Chet told him. “Might check out some farms and see if I can help some farmers get ready for spring.”

  A sudden pain flashed through Fred’s chest. He’d miss his friend, but he knew Chet had to go.

  The next day at supper, Father told Fred, “The president signed the employment bill yesterday, the Emergency Conservation Work Act. Remember him talking about that on his fireside chat?”

  Fred nodded.

  “Part of the new law was made just to help boys like Chet,” Father continued. “It’s called the Civilian Conservation Corps, or CCC.”

  “How’s it going to help them?” Fred asked.

  “The boys will be sent to work in places like the forests in northern Minnesota. They’ll live together in camps like soldiers. They’ll be paid thirty dollars a month, but they have to send twenty-five dollars home to their families each month. Since the government will give them a place to stay and food and clothes, the five dollars a month they get to keep should be more than enough for what they need.”

  Excitement rushed through Fred. “It sounds perfect for Chet!”

  Father shook his head. “The only problem is, it’s only open to young men ages eighteen to twenty-five.”

  “But Chet just turned eighteen yesterday!”

  Father grinned. “Then I agree with you. It sounds perfect for Chet.”

  Fred slumped against the back of his chair. “The only problem is, Chet’s leaving town. He told me he’s not going to stay here anymore. He’s planning to go out in the country and try to find work on farms.”

  “That’s too bad. Only 250,000 men will be admitted into the CCC, all over the country. And they can begin enrolling within the next couple weeks. I’d sure hate to see him miss out on this chance.”

  Fred couldn’t stop thinking about Chet and the CCC. I’ve got to find a way to tell him about this before he leaves the city! he thought. But how?

  While his parents and brothers listened to Amos ‘n’ Andy, Fred slipped into the hallway. Quietly he took his jacket and hat from the closet. If Mother and Father hear me, he thought, they’ll stop me. He held his breath while he stole down the hall, into the kitchen, and out the back door.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Search for Chet

  Standing on the back porch, Fred breathed in the cool night air and wondered, Where should I start? The missions. Maybe Chet’s staying at a mission tonight.

  A few blocks from home, he caught a trolley. He got off one block from the mission he knew Chet liked best. When he asked the people in charge whether they’d seen Chet, they shook their heads. “No, not tonight.”

  Fred thanked them, caught another trolley, and went to the Union City Mission. He got the same answer.

  He got the same answer at the Salvation Army, too.

  He didn’t know what other mission to try, so he decided to try the train station. His heart raced as he got off the trolley at the station. Maybe Chet was trying to catch a train out of the city right now! Maybe it was already too late and Chet was already riding the rails into the countryside.

  He went into the huge station. Even at night, it was filled with people leaving the city, arriving on trains, or waiting for people who were leaving or coming.

  He went outside, slipping into the train yard where the trains left the depot. Watching carefully for the railroad bulls, he slipped through the edge of the yard. Here, hobos waited in the shadows, hoping to catch a ride before the trains began moving too fast. He asked a couple hobos whether they’d seen Chet. No one had.

  Finally he gave up. There was only one place left to try. The hobo jungles.

  Just thinking about it sent a chill down his spine. He’d heard awful tales about the jungles. His parents had told him to never, never go to a jungle. “But I have to find Chet,” he whispered into the night, “and I don’t know where else to go.”

  He knew where some of the jungles were. There was one along the Mississippi River, not far from the station. He decided to head there first.

  Near the edge of the jungle camp, Fred stood behind a leafless bush. Through the branches, he could see a fire. Over the fire hung a large kettle. Fred could smell the jungle stew that cooked in the kettle. Men were sitting about the fire on the ground and on logs. Some of them were eating from tin cans. There was a large barrel a few yards away with another fire in it. A few men and boys stood around it, warming themselves against the cool spring air. Fred could hear men’s voices as they visited together, but he couldn’t tell what anyone was saying.

  Fred searched the faces he could see in the firelight. He couldn’t see Chet. But maybe Chet was sitting or sleeping in the darkness beyond the light of the fires. Even if he isn’t here, maybe someone can tell me where he is.

  What would the men say when he walked into the jungle? Fred took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the bush.

  His heart beat so hard he could feel it in his ears as he walked through the jungle to the fire where the kettle of stew gave off its aroma. He could tell the men and boys in the jungle knew he was a stranger here. As he neared the fire, people stopped talking and watched him.

  His throat went dry. His hands started sweating. He’d never been so scared in his life!

  He couldn’t forget the warnings his parents had given him to stay away from the jungles. Chet’s a hobo, too, he reminded himself silently. He said most of the hobos he’s met are nice.

  Fred tried to look at everyone while he walked, searching for Chet. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at a man in a torn coat and battered hat who was watching him. He remembered the man who had stolen from Chet. There’s always a few to watch out for, he told himself, like there’s always a bully in every school class. Fred made himself walk slow and easy, like he wasn’t scared. I hope I don’t run into the jungle’s bully, he thought. He felt sweat running down his back.

  He stopped at the fire.

  One of the men stood up. “You can’t have any stew unless you brought something to put in it.”

  Fred swallowed hard. “I … I didn’t come for stew. I’m looking for someone, a friend.”

  A man sitting on the other side of the fire pushed his hat back on his head. “This friend got a name?”

  “Chet. Chet Strand.”

  “Don’t know him,” the guy sitting down said.

  “I don’t know him, either,” said the man who was standing.

  Fred looked at the other men around the fire. “Do … do any of you know Chet?”

  No one said anything.

  Fred swallowed hard again. “Maybe you don’t know him by name.” He told them what Chet looked like.

  No one said anything.

  Fred took a couple steps backward. “Well, thank you.” He turned around and started walking away. He was more frightened now than when he came into the jungle! The men were so unfriendly, like they were mad he walked into their jungle.

  “Hey!” A man with a scraggly gray and black beard nodded at him.

  Fred stopped. He hoped the man couldn’t see him shaking.

  “Why do you want to find this feller?”

  “Um, I have some news for him that might help him get work.”

  “I know where you might find him.”

  “You do?” Hope pushed some of Fred’s fear away.

  “There’s another jungle he stays at sometimes. It’s about a mile from here.”

  “Can you tell me how to get there?”

  “Sure.” The man started giving him directions.

  Fred listened carefully. He didn’t want to have to ask the man to repeat himself.

  Suddenly someone grabbed his arm. Fred’s heart leaped into his throat!


  “What are you doing here, Fred?”

  “Chet!” Fred thought his legs would melt from relief.

  Chet was scowling at him. “Yeah, it’s me. Why are you here?”

  “I was looking for you.”

  “C’mon. Let’s go where we can talk.” Chet led the way out of the jungle and up onto a sidewalk. Streetlights with five round bulbs spread welcome light. Fred’s fear disappeared. He grinned at Chet. “I was beginning to think I’d never find you.”

  Chet didn’t grin back. “How could you have been so foolish? Jungles can be dangerous places.”

  “But—”

  “You aren’t looking for me ’cause you’re planning to run away from home, are ya? ’Cause if you are, I’m not going to have anything to do with it.”

  “I—”

  “When a boy has a family as fine as yours, a family that can afford to keep him at home, he has no business riding the rails.”

  “Whoa!” Fred held up both hands, palms toward Chet. “Will you stop long enough to listen to me?”

  Chet crossed his arms over his chest and stared at him.

  Fred grinned. “I’m not running away. I came to tell you about the new program FDR came up with. It’s called CCC. Have you heard about it?”

  Chet shook his head. He had a guarded look in his eyes. “No, I haven’t heard about it.”

  “I wanted to be sure you knew about it before you left the city. That’s why I’ve been looking for you.” Fred told him the little bit he knew. By the time he was done, interest sparkled in Chet’s eyes.

  “Why don’t you come home with me?” Fred suggested. “You can learn more about the program.”

  When they arrived home, all the lights were on in the house. Fred glanced at Chet. “Uh-oh. I think I’m in trouble.”

  “Didn’t they know you were out looking for me?”

  “No. I was afraid if I told them, they wouldn’t let me go.”

  “And they shouldn’t have,” Chet said, “considering where I found you.”

  “Aw, I was okay.” Anger and embarrassment made Fred uncomfortable. Is that all the thanks I get for going to all that trouble for him?